


Tales from the Vault

by D_f_m22



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Gen, The Vault (Doctor Who), twissy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2018-11-17 03:45:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 60,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11267271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_f_m22/pseuds/D_f_m22
Summary: A collection of one shots from seventy years in the Vault.





	1. The Start

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on a few one shots centred around the Vault and Twissy and have been meaning to post for a while. Finally getting around to it. Any feedback appreciated.

The electric shock may not have killed Missy, but it certainly stunned her. After her initial theatrics, the Time Lady had been rather subdued and remained so for several days. As the Doctor and Nardole headed to place Missy in the Vault, she hadn’t stirred and remained a dead weight in his arms. The Doctor had placed her in the middle of the Vault without gentleness, momentarily crouching down to check she was breathing properly. Internally, he had to keep telling himself he wasn’t making a huge mistake. 

“She’s out for a few hours,” he grumbled as he pulled a bag out of his pocket with trembling fingers and threw it over to Nardole. “Hold that open, I’m going to collect any weapons on her person”

Nardole eyed the Mistress’ crumpled form placed unceremoniously in the bare Vault with an odd mixture of caution and concern. He had heard stories of the atrocities caused by her hand. Often, such actions had been carried out on no more than a whim. Right now, however, she looked fragile. Her bulky clothing swamped her and bruises and cuts that weren’t visible when she was kneeled awaiting her fate lined her pale skin, now in full sight of everyone who gave her a second glance.

It took at least half an hour for the Doctor to be ninety percent certain he had retrieved all the weapons she was carrying. He wouldn’t be able to search her properly until Nardole had left and she was a bit more awake; he wouldn’t feel comfortable undressing her until she was at least somewhat aware of it. 

“Right,” Nardole said into the silent Vault. They’d been sat in silence for the better part of the evening. The Doctor pretending to read an old paperback while really keeping an eye on Missy as Nardole hovered awkwardly on the periphery. Missy had remained pretty much out of it for the evening, bar the occasional bleary mumbling. “Do you think it’s about time we got going?” 

“You go,” the Doctor responded instantly. “I’m going to stay here tonight.” 

“Doctor,” Nardole started hesitantly- a heavy warning hanging in the air. “This wasn’t part of the oath.”

“I need to keep an eye on her tonight and check she doesn’t try anything” he said. And check she is okay. Nardole made a small noise of protest and turned to walk out of the Vault. He made it to the threshold when the Doctor spoke up again. “Oh, I’ve sent a list of things to the Tardis that we need to get to make this place a bit more liveable for her. Make yourself useful and go and get them.”

After a bit of grumbling, Nardole padded out of the room and left the two time lords alone. 

It took three days for Missy to wake up long enough to be aware of anything other than a banging headache or general lethargy. When she finally woke up properly, she was hit by a wave of confusion. This wasn’t the cell she’d spent the past few years of her life in while waiting for the arrangements of her execution to be finalised. She was no longer laying in a damp cabin-esque building with only a concrete bed, but instead was positioned on a plush mattress with a blanket draped carefully over her form. Rolling over, she attempted to sit up but ended up being jolted back by the chain around her wrist.

Ah, not quite freedom, she thought to herself as she flopped back against the bed and tried to remember what course of events had led her to her current predicament. To her surprise, she felt relatively calm and safe. She hadn’t felt safe in a time longer than she could remember, certainly not in this incarnation. 

“Have some water.” A gruff voice ordered, shoving a bottle of Evian water in front of her. 

“Doctor,” Missy gasped in genuine surprise. She usually managed to sense him but not this time. That was strange. The Doctor caught her look of confusion and resolved to explain all the Vault’s features over the next few days. She wasn’t going to react well to having all her control taking away. 

“Doctor?” Missy repeated this time as a question as she scrambled to catch up with what was going on. She’d been in prison awaiting her execution, awaiting another Time Lord to carry out the deed. Ah. The penny dropped as Missy quirked her lips into a smirk. “Doctor, Doctor, Doctor” she chorused, smirk growing into a proud grin. 

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” the Doctor said. “Now have a drink, you’ve been out of it for three days.” Compassion didn’t come naturally to him in this body, but that didn’t mean he was willing to watch her make herself ill. 

Missy ignored the water bottle thrust in her face and stared up at the Doctor in awe. “You saved me. You actually saved me,” she beamed and pointedly ignored the water bottle. 

“Drink the water, Missy.” The Doctor was stern and resolute. “Or I will attach you to a drip and I know how much you would love that.” He warned dryly, prompting Missy to relent and drink the water in great gulps. 

Once the water was finished, she passed it back to him holding it out just long enough for him to reach out before dropping it onto the floor and descending into giggles. 

“If you’re quite finished,” he sighed as he crouched down and retrieved the bottle, “we need to discuss what comes next. And what you’ve missed while you’ve been sleeping off your electric hangover.”

“What comes next?” Missy scoffed, making to sit up and forgetting her restraints. “That’s simple: You help me get back to my Tardis and then we’ll part ways for another few decades one suspects. Now be a dear and undo this,” she waved her left wrist at him and puffed out her cheeks. The handcuffs clanged against the bed frame and sent echoes around the barren Vault. It was threadbare with only the bed and two chairs withheld in a hexagonal cage. The beams illuminated a fluorescent blue and buzzed away like a heartbeat.

For the first time since awakening, Missy realised where she was. This had been built as her tomb, the silly fool was really going through with it this time. 

He was going to keep her.  
He was going to try to redeem her. 

The Doctor watched on as Missy realised where they were and what was happening.

“You were serious about this?” She spat, aghast. “Well I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but it’s not happening. I’m not going to be your pet project.”

“You have no choice,” he stated instantly. “We’re friends and we always have been but something needs to change. I’m starting that change now.” 

“Urgh,” Missy sighed rolling her eyes up to the sky. “You sound like a therapist in a self-help magazine.”

Beneath her sarcasm, the Doctor could sense her growing agitation and carefully watched the way her eyes began to scan the Vault for an escape route. 

“You’re not getting out. There’s no escape this time, we’re facing what we’ve both been running from for centuries. And yes, I may well be like your therapist. I’ll also be your jailor but most of all, I’ll be your friend.” 

Missy snarled at that, bearing all her teeth like a cornered animal running out of options. The Doctor backed away pre-emptively as he felt the anger radiating from her. “You’re a sanctimonious bastard,” she spat as she lunged forward only to be pulled back by her restraints. “Who do you think you are?”

“I think I’m your friend,” he replied walking out of the forcefield and adjusting the settings via his watch. “And I’m the only one you’ve got.” 

“I hate you. I’ll hate you forever if you do this to me.” Missy was shouting by this stage, a slightly raised voice turning to screeched hysterics in under a second. 

“No, you don’t and no you won’t.” The Doctor pressed a button that undid her handcuffs and pointed at the hexagonal cage. “If you try to get through that forcefield, you’ll be tasered. Seen as though you’re still recovering from your latest jaunt with electrocution, I wouldn’t recommend it.” 

Missy hissed at him but remained frozen in the centre of the mattress, seemingly weighing up her options. The Doctor started to head towards the door, pausing and turning to look back as he reached them. “I’m going to leave you alone to let this sink in and get used to being on your own” he explained, knowing they were both at the start of a very long journey. 

“There’s a deck of cards and some books to keep you company,” he muttered nodding at the stack of paper backs before disappearing out of the Vault. 

When the Doctor returned, it was sixty-eight hours later. He’d heard Missy’s protests from his office and had been fully expecting the carnage he found. 

“Ah and the wanderer returns,” Missy huffed dryly from where she was sat in amongst what remained of the chairs. Her hair was even more frazzled than when he had left her and he could only assume his warnings about the forcefield had gone unheeded. 

“I said I would. I’m here for the long-term Missy.” Tapping some buttons on his watch he stepped into the cage. “I liked that chair, what did you do that for?” He asked lightly, picking up what was a wooden leg from a chair. 

Missy simply rolled her eyes at him in response. “You’ll be here alone, then. I’m not here for the long-term.”

“Missy,” the Doctor started as he knelt in front of her. Missy watched warily, unsure of what was coming next. “Ever since you’ve returned from Gallifrey, you’ve been telling me we’re still friends. The last few times I ignored you but I won’t be doing that this time. I want us to be friends again but things need to change.”

Missy shook her head. “Friends don’t lock friends in Vaults for a thousand years.”

“They do when that friend is a risk to every sentient being in the Universe- “

“Ah! There it is! You’re keeping me here for the safety of the Universe.” 

“You didn’t let me finish,” the Doctor said calmly. “I was going to say you do when that friend is a risk to the Universe and a risk to themselves.” 

Missy’s head bowed down in embarrassment and her cheeks reddened. “I’m not a risk to myself. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You are. You need help, Missy. Please, just this once, let me help you.” 

There was a long silence in the Vault before the Doctor shuffled towards Missy tentatively. Taking her chin in his hand, he tilted her gaze up to meet his. It was impossible to ignore her trembling and he wondered how many others had done this to her with far harsher intentions.

“I’ve seen your injuries,” he stated bluntly. The cuts and bruises he’d seen as he had got her settled in the Vault were a mixture of injuries from the carefree, danger-fuelled lifestyle she led and her time in brutal prisons. He’d even noted some deep scar tissue that he could tell had been with her from the start of this incarnation. Though he was yet to check for any injuries to her psyche, he was sure they were there. As he’d changed her into one of his old shirts, he’d come to the grim realisation that locking her in this Vault was about to save her life in more ways than just saving her from the initial execution. There was only so long that even Time Lords could go on living the way she had been. 

Missy remained silent and pulled away from his touch. Looking down at the oversized shirt, she finally noted that she had been changed. “You changed me?” She hissed, looking down. “Like an invalid?” 

“No,” the Doctor shook his head and backed away to give her some space. “I changed you like a friend. I also changed you because I had to check I had all your weapons.”

Missy’s lips quirked into a small smile at that, though there was still a heavy sadness there.

“You haven’t been kind to the Universe, Missy but the Universe hasn’t been kind to you either. I’m doing this to help you and I hope that one day you’re going to realise that.” The Doctor spoke in a calm tone, watching every little movement Missy made. 

“You saw my injuries?” She questioned after some time had passed in silence. There was a mixture of shame and fear behind her voice. 

“I did. We don’t need to talk about them now but I hope one day, you’ll want to tell me what’s been happening.” 

Missy nodded and raised to her feet, walking the short distance to the bed. “I guess this is my new home then. I haven’t had a home for a long time” she commented, perching on the edge of the bed. 

“Neither of us have,” the Doctor said as he kicked the remains of the chairs out of the way and pulled out two sandwiches from his pocket. “Catch!” A bacon and egg sandwich made its way towards Missy landing in her lap. She stared down at it, not quite sure what to do with the offering. “Well eat up,” the Doctor ordered. “You must have worked up quite an appetite from all the screaming and shouting you did down here.”

Missy looked over at him coyly and began to unwrap the sandwich. “It’s bed and board, is it? Are you expecting a good Expedia review?” 

“Take that look off your face, Missy. Coy has never suited you and it never will.” He took a bite out of his own sandwich and watched as she nibbled at the crusts. “This isn’t a hotel, this is still your— “ 

“My prison?”

“Your rehab.”


	2. A Friend Comes Bearing Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Probably more fluff than these two should ever be allowed.

The Vault doors clicked open and the Doctor walked in with a satchel over his shoulder, coat tails flailing behind him. 

Missy half turned around to face him, lips turning downwards as she heard the locks bolting shut. She felt just the slightest breeze enter her prison and relished the slight smell of freedom that remained just out of her reach. Crossing her legs, she adjusted her shirt and waited for him to enter the containment field. It may have been her third month in the Vault but she still hadn’t been trusted to be out of the forcefield when the Doctor wasn’t there. 

“Honey,” Missy purred, fluttering her eyelashes for good measure. “You’re home.”

“Wrong way around” the Doctor quipped, entering the containment field and sinking into one of the chairs across from Missy. “I’m supposed to be the one that says that.” 

Missy tutted. “Where have you been? You’ve been gone ages.” 

The Doctor looked at her guiltily before looking down at his hands. It had been the longest time that he’d left her but things needed sorting. Questions had started to arise surrounding his arrival on campus and he had managed to put rest to several rumours by securing a teaching position at the University. Missy was going to have to get used to him being gone for longer periods of time. 

“I’ve been gone five days,” he said by way of an explanation. “It’s not that long and Nardole has been bringing in food for you and letting you…” he paused and coughed. “Use the facilities.” 

Missy glared at him, feeling every inch the caged animal she’d become- let out from time to time only to stretch her legs and answer nature’s call. “But I like it when you come. Not your butler.” 

“I’ll be here for a few days now, okay?” He appeased, watching her nod. “It’s the weekend.”

“Weekend?” Missy scoffed, “since when did that matter?” 

“I have a job at the University,” he shrugged. “Seen as though this is a long-term arrangement, I may as well play the part." 

Missy snorted and swung her legs onto the mattress, stretching her back out luxuriously. “What the hell kind of job did someone with your degree classification get at a University? Cleaner?”  
The Doctor ignored her remark and picked up his satchel. “I bought you some presents” he said, joining Missy on the mattress and emptying the satchel’s content in front of her.

Missy leaned forward eagerly, scouring through the array of gifts like a child on Christmas morning. Most of the offerings were basics- shower gel, hair clips and the likes but there were some more indulgent items. An I pod (that he’d safety checked against attempted manipulation) and a plush, toy kitten seemed to have caught her attention the most. He thought they would. 

“I know you get lonely when I’m not here,” he shrugged as she placed toy in her lap and studied the I Pod intently. “Music helps me when I get lonely and when I can’t sleep.” He hoped she’d take the hint that he wouldn’t be able to be there every night when she had her nightmares like he had been for these first few months. “And I thought the cat looked cute.” 

“Will you take them away from me when I misbehave?” She quipped, blue eyes looking up at him teasingly. She’d taken the hint that he wouldn’t be staying as many nights as he had been but deliberately ignored it.

“That depends how much you misbehave.” It was an empty threat, he wouldn’t take any of it away from her.  
Missy looked up at him, unconvinced as she started to organise the presents into piles. Picking up the bottle of shower gel, she opened the lid and inhaled its scent. Citrus. She liked it, she decided and added it to her mental inventory of things she liked. That had been a surprising turn of events that had emerged from her early months in confinement- slowing down enough to enjoy things in the Universe again. 

“I like it. Smells refreshing” she smiled, placing it alongside the toiletries pile. The Doctor watched silently, content with her enjoyment. She still hadn’t properly settled into life in the Vault and there had been several breakdowns in the last few weeks alone. If he were to let her out right now, he had no doubt that she would go back to her old ways in a heartbeat. Nevertheless, he wasn’t going to spoil the moment for either of them by mulling over what could be. 

“Did you bring me any new toothpaste? My teeth are getting all fuzzy.” The Doctor was interrupted from his thoughts and looked up to see Missy running her tongue over her teeth and pulling an odd look of disgust. 

“Yes,” he stood and reached inside the satchel’s inside pocket. “Here you go.” 

Missy beamed and took the boxed toothpaste from him, adding it to the meticulous piles. “How are you going to sleep tonight with all that on your bed?” The Doctor teased. 

“I’m not sleeping tonight,” she shrugged. They both knew their species didn’t need the excess sleep that humans and others required. It hadn’t stopped the Doctor from trying to enforce a routine upon her. In fact, after she had finally relented to a proper examination of her physical and mental wounds about two weeks ago, he had been very serious about the whole thing. “You are one bad mistake away from a regeneration,” he had cried in desperation. “That’s if you even manage to regenerate. No. Things are changing from now on.” Missy still hadn’t managed to figure out quite why he thought he was a suitable role model for health and wellbeing. 

“Sleep every night, Missy, even if it is only an hour. That’s what we agreed” the Doctor said firmly, the image of her failing body still fresh in his mind. “You don’t sleep every night,” she responded with a pout. “I’m not recovering from several near-death experiences.” 

Missy’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Whatever,” she murmured looking at the shower gel longingly. “Come on now, it’s not that bad. We’ll watch a film together tonight before bed.” It was like negotiating with a child and it embarrassed Missy more than she’d ever admit but she still nodded at his offer. “Do you want a bath?” He asked, knowing she wouldn’t have had one in the five days he’d been gone- she wouldn’t be willing to go through the procedures with anyone but him. While she was happy to have Nardole bring her food and take her to the bathroom, she wouldn’t have him waiting in the bathroom with her while she bathed. 

“Yes,” Missy said, standing and retrieving her towel and dressing gown from where it was draped over her bedframe. She grabbed the new shower gel and sponge and held it under one arm as she sat back down and held her free hand out expectantly. The Doctor attached one handcuff to her slim wrist and the other to his while Missy swallowed back bile. She felt like an obedient pet being taken for walkies.

“Off we go then,” the Doctor muttered softly and awkwardly as he tugged his wrist back gently. “Do you want me to carry anything?” 

Missy shook her head and struggled to contain the bundled pile in her arms. These were her treasures. The Doctor had bought them for her. He had gone out and thought about her and chosen something for her. No one was taking them from her, not even him. 

The water was warm as Missy sank into it. A soft sigh left her lips and she splashed playfully for a few seconds. “I was starting to smell,” she sang. “Not as bad as your humans but not far off.” The Doctor coughed. “Keep behaving and I might start letting you have baths unassisted. Then when I’m away, you’ll be able to continue to have them.” 

“I don’t want you to go away.”

“I’ll always come back, Missy. I can’t be with you all the time though. You still need punishment for your actions.” 

Missy made an odd little noise but didn’t protest any further. 

“Turn around and I’ll change the dressing on your back.” They still hadn’t discussed just how she had come to find herself in such a state and the Doctor knew he couldn’t rush her into talking. He could make sure he looked after her though. 

Several hours had passed by the time Missy was happy with how her new presents had been organised in the containment field. The Doctor had offered to help but she had batted him away on several occasions. Half of the reason for the length of time was down to her perfectionism, the other half was down to delaying going to sleep. 

“Now that’s sorted, get into bed.” Missy looked over at him, drowned by the flannel pyjamas he had bought her. He still wasn’t used to buying women’s clothes and had refused to go to the alien tailor that Missy had told him about. He knew full well that alien tailor was part-time tailor, full time mercenary.

“Will you get into bed with me while we watch the film?” Missy asked, looking over her shoulder at him. “You have been gone five days.” The Doctor hovered over the chair he had been about to sit in. It was his usual seat of choice for when he watched her settle down to sleep. At her request, he hesitated and gulped. 

“If you get in right now.” Missy shot into the bed at lightning speed and fussed with the duvet. The Doctor kept to his promise, joining her and handing her the controller.

“Your pick,” he said. “But remember, no blood and no violence.” 

“What about Disney?” 

“I guess that’s allowed.”


	3. Chapter 3

Missy’s tongue hung out the side of her mouth as she ran the black polish over her little fingernail. Her movements were precise and planned, the bare nail was soon washed in a dark coat. Missy hummed considering her work and hesitantly placing the brush back in the pot. One done, nine to go.

“Have you only finished one nail?” 

Missy looked up and over her shoulder from the vanity table, noticing the Doctor for the first time, and nodding. The smell of Chinese filled the Vault and she felt a wave of sickness wash over her. 

“I’m not hungry. Don’t bring that near me or I will vom.” She held her hand out and examined the one nail that caught in the light and glistened. It looked rather splendid. “I’ll vom so much that I’ll chunder more than Cressida and Eugenie did at Glasto last summer. “ 

She’s been practicing her accents again. Today it’s her low voiced, plum in mouth attempt at estuary English. It’s got nothing on her shrill Queen’s- or should that be in this moment of time King’s? -English. It’s certainly not her thick Glaswegian burr that never fails sends to send a shiver down his spine. It is, however, better than her overdone French accent and slightly less disconcerting than her cockney one. She always reminds him of an East End witch when she speaks like that, voice just crying out to cackle at the end of every sentence. 

“Bit early for Glastonbury. About thirty years too early” the Doctor responds, knowing she’s talking nonsense but choosing to start with that and then work his way up to an actual conversation. He hadn’t stopped by in over two days after inadvertently helping when some London evacuees turned out to be from an all-together different London. No, not the London in Ontario but one from several planets and several thousand years away. 

Missy’s hand gripped the edge of the vanity and The Doctor instantly realised his mistake. He hadn’t been telling her how long she had been in the Vault. Time moved differently there and she was cut off from being able to process it in her normal way. It was kinder he thought. After all, living in a linear time frame was a struggle for them both; he at least had relative freedom while she was quite literally locked away. 

“So, it’s what?” She questioned, voice clipped as her Scottish base accent seeped into every word. “1940?” It hadn’t even been five years, Missy realised with a growing dread. 

“1941, actually.” The Doctor said meekly, as if it made the blindest bit of difference. 

There was a heavy, expectant silence in the air for what felt like hours. It couldn’t have been more than a minute. Time was funny in the Vault in more ways than one.

“We’ll meet again. Don’t know where, don’t know when” Missy started to chorus abruptly, swinging her legs around her chair and standing, pacing the inside perimeter of the containment field in time with the rhythm in her head.

The Doctor watched her elegant movements and resolved for the third time that month that he’d bring her a musical instrument as a treat as soon as she showed a little more improvement. She’d always had an affinity for music. 

“There’ll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover” her voice didn’t quite reach the notes in the way they should but they remained melodic enough. The Doctor looked up, drawn from his thoughts and catching sight of her piercing blues examining them as she hummed the verses. He was suddenly aware of the forcefield dividing them. 

“That’s a different song,” he commented not sure if she had realised. She often just missed the bar with her human references. If human cultures had been a course at the Academy, it would have been the one class he achieved a higher grade than her. 

“I know that” she protested, nose scrunching up in distaste at his assumption that she didn’t know something. She was lying and they both knew it.

He smiled. Her nose always crinkled when she’d been found out on something small. Koschei’s nose had crinkled the same way when he’d been found with his hand on Ushas’ biology notes before their final exams in first year. Come to think of it, it was a twitch the Master had had even when big deceptions had been found out. The Doctor felt his mind leading him down a dark route and forced himself to stop. 

“It’s our song,” Missy chimed head tilting as she observed the Doctor’s faraway glance. 

“The White Cliffs of Dover?” 

Missy scoffed. “We’ll meet again,” she corrected with a roll of her eyes. “They are different songs, you know. We’ll always meet again. We don’t know where and we don’t know when but we always will” She trilled, pleased with a correct reference. 

“You’re idealising us,” the Doctor says gently. “We usually know where we’ll meet again. It’s in the ruins of some planet you’ve destroyed.” 

“Well it shakes it up a bit. Me the idealist, you the realist” she coos. She’s tracing a slim finger along the blue beams and the Doctor knows it’s only a matter of time before she gets a warning zap. She knows it too and it bothers him how much she seems to want it to send electric currents through her.

He should adjust the locks and let her out but he’s stuck on the spot, captivated by her baby blues and melodic tongue. Before he knows it, the conversation has escalated tenfold. It always does with her. 

“Not that long ago that you were cradling me in your arms, begging me to regenerate.” She pauses here, does that little gasp where she looks like she’s stopped breathing all together and is frozen in that second. Bringing her hand to her cheek, she lowers her eyelids halfway as though she is dreaming. “I can still feel your tears on my cheek.” 

“Missy.” 

Missy throws her head back, grinning with eyes full of mirth. A messy curl falls loose and dangles down the back of her neck as she looks at him over her shoulder. “Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run” she sings eerily. “Don’t let the Master have their fun fun fun.” 

Those aren’t the words and he knows it’s a deliberate mistake this time. 

“Missy.” 

“That’s more our song, isn’t it?”

“Stop it now.” He can feel his blood boiling. Why can’t she try harder to be good? She’s playing him and he’s let it go too far. There’ll be no musical instrument for her if this manipulation carries on. Shame. He already had the piano he wanted to get her in mind. 

“Okay, okay dear keep your lovely head of hair on” she smirks. “You have to admit it though- who was idealising us back then? It was you and we both know it.” Her lips turn up into what she thought was an endearing smile. It wasn’t. “You said such pretty things to me. You asked me what you’d be without me. You forgave me. You idealised everything we have and had.” 

He’s at the containment field in second, glaring at her. “Enough. I forgive you now,” he reminds her. Arms opened wide as he looks around the vast Vault. “That’s what this is. This is me helping you and forgiving you.” 

Missy’s jumped back towards her vanity table, grimacing. Had he scared her? The Doctor wonders momentarily as he tries to read her. Or had she been zapped harder than she expected? It would certainly act as a warning to her in the future if she had got a bit of a shock. 

“I said” Missy drawls, “keep that food away from me. I wasn’t kidding when I said I would be sick.” 

The Doctor looks up and catches her paled expression and the way she was holding the bedframe for support. Her adrenaline levels were playing up again and he hadn’t noticed. She’d been in his care for nearly five years and he still failed to notice when her moods were excessively up and down, he realised grimly.

It was why she’d only had the concentration levels to paint one finger nail.

It was why she’d been doing those stupid accents.

It was why she’d been singing and winding him up so much. 

And it was why she felt sick. 

“Get that grease bag away from me,” Missy seethed eyes now closed as she took a deep breath. 

“Sorry, sorry” he hissed, stepping back and walking to the make shift kitchen unit. Opening the fridge, he placed it inside and walked back to the containment field. Holding his sonic out, he adjusted the settings and the walls fell away. To his surprise, Missy stayed where she was, not leaping out of the caged area as soon as possible as she normally did. 

“Missy,” the Doctor held his hand out. “You can come out of there now.” She really was being left there far too often for long periods of time. They were going to have to make some changes. No. He was going to need to make some changes. Despite the occasional jarring word, she had been relatively well behaved. Relative to her, that is. There must be a way he could let her out of the containment field and into the wider Vault while he wasn’t there. 

“I just felt a tad peaky,” she sighed and returned to her plum in mouth accent. She couldn’t understand why she was feeling so on edge but could tell she wasn’t processing things right. She was on edge. 

“You’re restless,” the Doctor offered her a label for what she didn’t understand. “You’ve got a lot of pent up energy and I shouldn’t have left you in there for so long.” 

“Yes. Yes, I suppose that’s it.” Missy turned her head and looked at the still opened pot of nail varnish. 

“Bring that with you,” he suggested as he watched her eye the nail varnish. “We’ll sit by those windows, by the light and have some fruit tea while you finish your nails,” he smiled and waited a few seconds. “You’ll look silly with only one nail painted.”  
Missy swallowed and nodded quickly. “I will.” She agrees, screwing the lid shut tight and pocketing it.

“They aren’t real windows.” 

“I know but I’ve made sure they project the closest thing to real sunlight. It’ll be good for you.”

Missy still hovered in the containment field, hand lingering over the stuffed cat he’d bought her during her first year in captivity. She had become attached to it far more than he had anticipated and had spent the better part of the third year begging him to bring her a real kitten. He’d put his foot down firmly against that idea, there was no way she was ready to care for a sentient being. She would probably kill the feline in a fit of rage and then regret what she had done as she begged for replacement. 

He had, however, added some features to the cat that made it more realistic. Thanks to a robotic heart and voice box, it now purred and meowed like the real thing. Recently, he’d added an artificial emotional and physical needs system. This meant that it responded to Missy’s touch in a positive or negative way depending on whether she was doing the right thing. It would also let her know when the cat was hungry or thirsty or need something from her. It was a way of helping her understand and learn how to care for something without risking her hurting it. 

She’d been getting better at looking after the stuffed cat but it had taken her several weeks. The smile on her face when the cat purred in her lap, or nuzzled against her was enough to make up for him regretting to install an off button and spending several hours trying to silence the cat while Missy had shoved her head under her pillow and shouted at it to be turned off. 

Missy seemed to need the soft affection that the toy cat (and on the odd occasion, the Doctor himself) gave much more than her previous incarnations had. It made him wonder how much she’d been deprived of any kind-meaning physical contact. She had started to talk a bit more openly about what had happened to her in the events leading up to her attempted execution but they were never more than off-hand comments.

“I don’t want beans,” she had said one evening as he had been preparing a jacket potato for her tea. “That’s all they would give me, once a day, every day. It’s easy to hide the drugs in the sauce.” 

“Who’s they, Missy?” he had asked, placing the can opener down. “No one,” she had replied. 

Another time, the Doctor (not yet trusting her with sharp objects) had been helping her cut her nails. They had been having a heated debate over an academic article he’d just published and he’d teasingly waved the scissors at her as he stressed his points. Missy had scrambled away from him faster than he thought possible, put herself into the containment field and demanded he left instantly. 

The Doctor was drawn from his thoughts as he heard Missy start humming to herself again. She was still hovering by the bed, eyes lingering on the cat and clearly trying to level out her emotions. She was getting better at that than she had been even a month ago. 

“Bring Yana with us,” he reassured as he tried to coax her out. Yana was the name she’d eventually settled on for her prized ball of fluff, after changing it every day for six months. The Doctor hadn’t initially liked it, thinking it was a deliberate attempt to hurt him. One night, though, she had sleepily confessed the reasoning behind the name choice. “I called myself Yana to reassure you that you weren’t alone. Now, this Yana reminds me that I’m not alone, even when I think I am and you’ve been gone for days.” 

The Doctor had said no more on the name choice after that. 

Missy stepped tentatively out of the confinement field, holding Yana to her chest and scratching him behind the ear. “Good boy,” she murmured to him as she placed a gentle kiss to his head and made her way to the Doctor. 

Wrapping his arm around her waist, he guided her to the two leather seats by the windows. Yana’s artificial emotion settings kicked in and a low whine-like noise filled the room. The Doctor recognised it but wanted to see if Missy was starting to decipher the different moods. 

“He’s hungry,” Missy said in a quiet voice that didn’t hold her usual certainty. She could lecture confidently for hours on the properties of a black hole, but lost face when it came to identifying an emotion- whether it was her own or his or a pretend cat’s. 

“That’s right,” the Doctor beamed. “Sit down and I’ll get us some tea and some of those biscuits for Yana.”

Those biscuits were tiny batteries that kept Yana working. Missy had come up with that idea herself. 

Missy sat in the chair, restless energy still coursing through her as she moved her legs about and stomped each foot into the carpet. The Doctor watched silently as he set up the fruit tea in paper cups and sprinkled a handful of cat biscuits-come-batteries into a plastic bowl. 

Setting it all on the tray he walked slowly over to the seats, careful not to spill any as he set it down on the coffee table. Yana repeated the same low-pitched whine and Missy immediately reached for the biscuits. Holding each one up to Yana’s robotic mouth with thought and tenderness until the very last one was gone. Even though her hands trembled, it was clear she was starting to calm down. 

The Doctor watched from the corner of his eyes as he blew on the fruit tea and took a long slurp. He grinned at the delighted noise Missy made as Yana purred and curled in her lap. 

“Look,” she gushed- her tone now more even and controlled as she started to balance out. “I did it. You should get me the real thing.”

“Maybe in a couple of decades, Missy. It was only last week you’d placed him in a pillow case because he wouldn’t stop making that whining sound.” 

Missy conceded with a shrug of her shoulders and went back to petting Yana. The Doctor finished his tea and resolved to give her five minutes before reminding her to drink her tea. 

“You like me having Yana so that I learn to care for something other than myself, don’t you?” She said when not quite five minutes had passed. 

“That’s one of the reasons.”

“Maybe you should give me a baby. We both have all the right parts now,” she gestured over her middle vaguely. Her lips were drawn back in a playful grin and she was much more stable than she had been earlier. 

She was teasing him but getting the right balance.

The Doctor nearly choked. “I think that is one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had. And there’ve been a few.” 

“Spoil sport,” she pouted and went back to petting Yana in repetitive motions.  
“If you carry on like this, I might bring you a plant in next week.” Missy turned to face him with a grin and he held his hand up to stop her quickly. “Not one with teeth.” 

The rest of the evening passed smoothly, the Doctor marking essays while keeping a watchful eye on Missy as she drank several cups of tea and eventually managed to stomach a few pork balls. The projection cycle started to dim to dusk as he watched Missy let out a yawn and rest her head on the arm of the chair. Yana remained cocooned up in her skirts as she pulled her legs up and sank into the chair. 

“I was in a strange mood today, huh?” She asked contemplatively as she turned and propped her chin on her arms, staring at him. 

“A little bit. Your adrenaline levels and emotions were a bit out of whack.” The Doctor placed the stack of essays down and turned to face her fully. The last light from the window projections caught the dark shadows under her eyes. “Did you sleep while I was gone?” He asks, knowing the answer. 

She shakes her head, curls tumbling loose. “You need to start sleeping while I’m not here.”

“I can’t.”  
“Missy, you’re safe here.”  
“Not from my nightmares”  
The Doctor sighed and ran his hand over his face. “I’ll try and get something to help you sleep, okay?”

Missy nodded, suppressing a yawn. “Want to tell me what the nightmares are about?” Missy shook her head. “You’re going to be here for a thousand years, Missy, we’re going to talk about this stuff sooner or later.”

“It’s going to be later,” she said in a heartbeat as her eyes drifted shut. 

“What did you do when you had an episode like you did today- where your emotions and your adrenaline are all over the place- and you were on your own?” 

“That’s a thinly-veiled ‘what did you ever do without me?’ question. You’re a walking ego sometimes” She mumbled, head back down and resting against the crook of her arms. Saliva started to form in the corners of her mouth and dampen the fabric on the inside of her elbow. She was minutes away from sleep.  
“I mean it Missy. You were anxious and uptight and all over the place. You didn’t understand what was wrong and I know it’s not the first time you’ve felt like that.”

“I did things you wouldn’t have liked. Things that have ultimately led me here.” 

“Okay,” the Doctor replied simply, seeing she was tired and not really knowing what else he could say. Watching the steady rise and fall of her shoulders, her saw her breathing slow as she eventually gave into sleep. 

Slowly, he walked over to her and undid her jacket. As he eased it off her shoulders, the tiny pot of nail varnish rolled out her pocket. The Doctor held his breath, expecting her to wake up from the noise echoing around the Vault. She simply let out a snore and curled up smaller. 

The Doctor examined the small pot and looked down at the one finger nail she’d managed to paint. “Well we wouldn’t you to look silly now, would we?” He whispered to himself, smirking as he remembered this was the woman that had styled herself after Mary Poppins. 

Pulling up the footstool, he sat down and started to carefully paint the rest of her nails while Missy remained fast asleep. Humming his approval, the Doctor looked down at her bare feet that drooped over the edge of the seat.

“In for a penny, in for a pound.” He mumbled to himself as he moved to her feet.


	4. Botany and Tears

In retrospect, the plant had been a bad idea. 

 

“She’s not going to be happy seeing me, sir” Nardole had forewarned as he lifted the tray carefully. The orange juice shook precariously on the tray and Nardole’s podgy hands forced themselves to still to save the salmon and asparagus that was plated up. “Oh, don’t put yourself down” The Doctor declared, not looking up from the student newspaper he was reading. “She’s warming to you.” “She most certainly is not,” Nardole snorted. “She’s invented a new game. It involves trying to hit as many peas on my head as possible.” 

The Doctor looked up, eyebrows raised in what looked like concern. “No, no, no. That’s not right,” he sighed tiredly. “Thank you, sir. I’d appreciate it if you had a little word with her about appropriate dining etiquette.” “What?” The Doctor asked in confusion. “No, no. I don’t care whether she knows how to use a knife and fork properly. She should be eating all her dinner. Nardole I sent you down there with strict orders about that. She’s to eat all her dinner, not waste half of it on you.”

Nardole’s face hardened into a glare and he shook his head in disbelief. “Anyway, she didn’t invent that game, I taught her it in the dinner hall back in the day.” “I really think you’re missing the point of my grievance.” “Take the dinner down there and watch her eat all of it. You can keep her in the containment field, just make sure the plate is empty.” Nardole opened his mouth to protest but the Doctor shut him up with a warning stare. “Now Nardole.”

 

It had been less than five minutes when Nardole’s yelp of pain echoed into the Doctor’s office. It was followed by a gleeful cackle that sent a cold shiver down his spine. In seconds, he was darting down the stairs and into the Vault. 

The scene he discovered was slightly less concerning than he had anticipated. Only slightly. Nardole was huddled in one corner, holding a bleeding wound on his left arm as tears of pain threatened to spill down his cheeks. Missy stood to his side, leaning against the wall as she laughed theatrically. “Oh, humpty dumpty! Your face” she wheezed, doubling over in fits of laughter before straightening and looking directly at the Doctor.

“That got you down here.” She examined him with cool, calculating eyes. One of her hands were coiled around a makeshift gun. It was a rather magnificent weapon, fashioned out of leaves and branches, shooting ceramic pellets that she’d retrieved from the plant pot. In other circumstances, he would have stopped to admire her handiwork. Right now, all he could do was regret bringing her the plant as a gift. 

Casting his eyes over her shoulder, the Doctor caught sight of the broken pot and soil that littered the floor. 

 

“Missy” he hissed, stepping towards her in two long strides and confiscating the gun. 

 

“It’s flower power,” she cackled smugly. “You’re always reading about all those damn hippies that populate the earth these days.” The Doctor swallowed, regretting not just the gun but also the calendar and television set he’d bought in. Not only was she now aware what decade they were in, she had a point of reference for current affairs. That was when she chose to watch anything other than the Magic Roundabout. “Been out on a student march yet? No more nukes, no more bras, no more…” she paused, looked around the air as she considered her next words. “No more war.”

The Doctor scowled, brow creasing and deep lines forming along his tired face. Every damn time she made a breakthrough, she seemed to take several steps back. 

 

“Doctor,” Nardole whined as he added extra pressure to the wound. Missy observed eagerly, licking her lips and smirking. 

 

“I thought he was a cyborg,” she chimed. “Indestructible.”

 

“That’s not how it works and you know it,” he growled as he guided Nardole to the nearest seat.

 

“That’s my seat!” Missy gasped in disgust. “Don’t let him sit in it, it’s mine!” 

 

The Doctor ignored her, rolling Nardole’s sleeve up and examining the wound. Missy tutted loudly and started to skulk off to her bed, picking Yana up. “Where do you think you’re going?” The Doctor seethed, Missy looked back at him in surprise. She didn’t have time to respond before he clicked his fingers and pointed to the spot next to him. “Get here now and help me with Nardole’s wound. I know you know how to repair it.” Nardole gulped as the two Time Lords stared at each other. Eventually, the Doctor broke the silence. “It’s what good people do.”

 

“Good people don’t shoot other people with leaf guns,” Nardole mumbled. Missy looked back down at Yana and considered sitting down on the bed and ignore everything else. She was bored of her game now. “Leave Yana there and come and help me now, Missy.”

 

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child,” she hissed though walked over and joined him. 

 

Nardole gulped under her gaze. “I don’t think this is a good idea.” 

 

“You’ll be fine,” the Doctor reassured as they set about on the first aid. 

 

*******************************************************************************

 

Nardole had been patched up in half an hour and had scurried off for some tea and biscuits after an insincere apology from Missy. 

 

The Doctor was crouched down scraping up Missy’s dinner while she remained sat in the confinement field. Striding towards her, he slammed it down in front of her and pointed. “Eat.” Turning away, he opened her wardrobe and pulled out her pyjamas. He slung them carelessly on the bed, feeling Missy’s eyes follow him around. Looking up to meet her gaze, he caught her eyes twinkling with mirth.

 

She was treating this like a game, he realised grimly. This is exactly what she had wanted; him down here with her. 

 

“Take that look off your face,” he ordered, sitting down and watching her from outside the containment field. “I don’t expect you to make immediate breakthroughs but I thought after the twenty odd years you’ve been in here, you would have been above acts like the stunt you’ve just pulled.”

 

Missy’s grin faltered. 

 

“Eat your food and then I’m going away for a few days. I have essays to mark, students to meet.”

 

“You mark your essays down here with me. You always do.”

 

“This is a punishment, Missy. I’m not going to spend time with you when you hurt my friends. Now eat your dinner.”

Missy’s retort died on her tongue and she reluctantly began to eat the salmon. She paced it out as long as possible, hoping that by the time she’d finished the Doctor would change his mind and stay. 

The Doctor watched tiredly, standing up and retrieving her half full plate when it approached the hour mark. “You’ve eaten enough. Clearly you’re not hungry” he grumbled. As he walked out of the confinement field, he caught sight of Yana on the bed. He’d later look back on what he did next as petty, but in that moment, he couldn’t care less. Swiping the robotic cat off the bed he carried it out with him, “Yana was a present, you don’t deserve presents tonight.” 

Missy looked crestfallen as she looked up at him. For a moment, she looked set to burst into tears. That was before the anger set in and she shot after him, bashing her wrist against the barrier. “Why are you treating me like a child?” She shouted in raw anger. “You love this. It play’s right into your quasi-power complex.” The Doctor nearly snorted as she accused him of being the one with a power complex.

“Look at you. You’re having a strop because I’m not spending all my time with you and I’m taking away a toy cat.” That caused her to hit out at the containment field a few more times. “I wonder why I’m treating you like a child.” 

The Doctor turned and walked away, not engaging with her anymore. “Go to sleep, Missy. I’ll be back in a few days.”

The shouting and screaming continued for two whole days. The Doctor stayed away for another two.


	5. Barking Mad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor returns to the Vault and they work on damage control. 
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely comments. Sydney- I will be writing your suggestion about the nightmares in at some point in the next few chapters, I haven't forgotten!

It’s four days after the unfortunate event in the Vault when the Doctor and Nardole are sat together in his office. The room is dimly lit and they are in a companionable silence. Outside, there is the faintest smell of a barbecue in the distance. There’s a guitar playing not far away and the Doctor just has to close his eyes to imagine the peace circle of students, holding hands and singing together. He really loved the sixties. Glancing down at his newspaper, he scowled at the cover story and bloodied images plastered across the front page. Well, he loved most of it anyway. 

 

“You haven’t held any lectures all week,” Nardole comments suddenly as though the thought is just occurring to him. He’s stood by the window, observing the young humans outside. They’d already witnessed two generations of students pass through the halls of the university and he is beginning to understand why the Time Lords had referred to them as mayflies. The Doctor turns, pleased for the distraction from the broadsheet. He prefers the optimism of the student published paper, he decides. He catches sight of Nardole’s bandaged arm and suddenly it’s four days ago and he’s angry all over again.

 

“I gave them the time off to go to the peace protests,” he shrugs, wiping his hand over the corners of his mouth. “I would have gone down there with them but I thought, given recent events, I should stay close to the Vault.” Nardole pulls an odd face and makes a noncommittal noise as he returns to his seat and pours some freshly brewed tea for them both. “It’s nice to hear myself think again,” he comments eventually. “That screeching was getting akin to a Banshee and my ears were ringing all day yesterday even when she finally stopped.”

 

The Doctor’s face clouds in shame and he looks down into his tea. He knew he had to be better than this, for her sake, but he couldn’t move past his anger. He looks over to the footstool and sees Yana perched atop it by the fireplace. If someone took a fleeting glance at the cat, they’d be forgiven for mistaking it as real. Nardole follows his eyes to the cat and says nothing. “I think she’s worn herself out,” the Doctor comments, “she’s probably sleeping it off.” He cringes internally and tries not to think of her like a toddler. “Think?” Nardole snorts, “You mean you haven’t been down there? I haven’t been down there either. That’s four days with no access to the food, water or the bathroom.” 

 

“I know you haven’t been down there. She’s being punished, Nardole” he reassures, knowing that the Cyborg was concerned about not doing his job. He may not have liked Missy, but he was loyal to his duties. “Anyway, she isn’t human. Four days for us is nothing.” Even as he says it, he doesn’t believe his own words. “That’s all very well, sir” Nardole begins and the Doctor can just tell he’s in for a lecture. “But it’s not four days in the Vault, is it? It’s four days in that containment field. Anyway, I thought you said you were trying to introduce a routine to counteract her chaos. Regular meals and routine, you said. This is most certainly not that.” The Doctor holds his hand up to Nardole, pre-empting what is coming next. He doesn’t need to be told River wouldn’t agree with what he’s doing. He knows. He always knows how much he’s disappointed all the people he loves. 

 

“Alright, I get it” he grumbles. “I’m going to see her tonight, happy?” Nardole shrugs and starts to collect the mugs up, he looks set to leave it when he pauses at the door. “How old are you and Missy?” He asks curiously. “Older than you can possibly imagine.” “Hmm,” Nardole says and the Doctor knows he’s about to make an annoyingly smug comment. “And how long has Missy been committing acts of heinous atrocity?” The Doctor glares at him, “you’ve seen the list of her crimes that she was awaiting execution for,” he responds. “They were committed in one Earth year alone, so you do the maths.” “Hmm,” Nardole comments again, adding “interesting. And, as a rough estimate, how many people has she killed?”

 

The Doctor doesn’t respond to this and instead his eyebrows knit together. He could give a rough estimate but he doesn’t want to. It would hurt too much. “Is there a point to this?” “My point is she’s only been in that Vault for coming up to three decades,” he sighs as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Despite your dramatic vagueness, I can figure out that that is only around 0.05% of her existence, if that. You can’t expect her to just change overnight. Remember, you have all the power here and she has none.” The Doctor pulls a face, but knows that he is right. “I get it, okay. I’m going down there tonight.” Nardole nods smugly. “Go there now and take that bloody cat with you,” he points at the footstool by the fireplace. “When she wasn’t crying for you, she was crying for Yana. Taking him away was just cruel.” 

 

It was silent as the Doctor approached the lofty Vault doors. He hesitated, calloused fingers coiled around a canvas bag that contained Yana and some supplies for dinner. He hadn’t brought any new gifts this time, he may feel guilty but he wasn’t going to reward her behaviour. She was having enough problems understanding right and wrong without him confusing her further. Pressing his ear to the door, it remained eerily quiet. Usually when he arrived at the doors, she would sense him and he would feel an excited flurry of psychic energy in return. But now, there was nothing. Biting his lip in anticipation, he slammed the numbers into keypad and stood back as they rumbled open.

 

Inside the Vault, the lights were dimmed and Missy seemed to have selected to keep the daily-cycle projections on their evening settings. He didn’t like it when she did that- he’d set up the day cycles to give her some grasp on the outside world and to prevent her from going too stir crazy. As he walked further into the Vault, a stale and human stench reached his nose. It had only been four days, he thought to himself, it shouldn’t be that bad in here. Then he remembered it had been several days before that that he had spent any real time with her down here. When it was Nardole, she refused to have a bath or use the toilet or take care of any of her basic needs. There were still scraps of food by the door, left over from the other night, and that wasn’t helping the smell. 

 

“You can stop sulking with me now,” he said as he caught sight of Missy huddled in the far corner of the containment field. It looked like a tornado had ripped through her cage- the bed was overturned, vanity table knocked on its side and all her books were ripped up and strewn across the floor. He congratulated himself on having the foresight to get non-breakable furniture. “We’re having a chat. You and me.” His concern grew slightly as he still received no response and he wondered if she was asleep. 

 

Missy wasn’t asleep. She was listening to everything he was saying and every step he took around the Vault. Did he have Yana? She found herself hoping as she heard him place down a bag and step closer to the barrier. When she heard his sonic change the settings on the containment field, she curled up smaller. Shame radiated from her as she awaited her inevitable humiliation. He’d already sensed that Vault was in a state- it was only a matter of time before he figured out how much of a state she was in herself. The duvet and sheets from her bed were bundled together and slung in the corner, attempting to hide her accident. The urine stain had darkened and over the course of the day and its stench was embedded in the material, wafting around the room as a staunch reminder of how primitive she had become. 

 

She’d tried to tell him, before he left in a huff of righteous anger, that she needed to use the toilet but she’d been so overwhelmed with anger over him leaving and taking Yana that she hadn’t found the words. Instead, she’d shouted and screamed and eventually cried. He’d already chided her for being childlike- what would he say now she had wet the bed? All her clean underwear and pyjamas had been taken from her a few weeks back because the Doctor had caught her trying to make some sort of incendiary weapon out of them. It had been decided then that only a minimal number of items could be kept in the containment field when she was alone. So now she was sat in her own mess, trying to hide it from him for as long as possible. 

 

“Oh, Missy” the Doctor sighed, as he brought down the containment field’s barriers and realised what had happened instantly. Guilt rose through the pit of his stomach, bile settling at the back of his throat. He was reminded again about the inevitable power dynamics that had formed in this set up. Missy didn’t say a word, laying very still as the Doctor stepped up into the containment field. He chose not to directly mention the obvious, knowing she would be humiliated by the whole situation. “I think you should have a bath,” he said tactfully and collected up the dirty bed sheets. Missy stood up, still silent as she stared at her feet. The Doctor looked over, saw the darkened patch of material on her pyjama bottoms. He wanted to look away but knew he had to be the bigger person. “I’m sorry,” he sighed and tried to catch her line of vision. 

 

Missy said nothing and raised her wrist out in front of him. For a moment, he wondered what she was doing and then it hit him. “No, Missy, the doors are locked. You can go and run your own bath, I’m not going to put the handcuffs on.” He would have offered to run the bath for her, but thought she would want the chance to regain some control. “Okay,” Missy murmured. Her voice was croaky and it was obvious she’d damaged her vocal chords again from all her shouting and screaming. That was going to have to stop. She was going to really hurt herself. 

 

“The bubble bath you like is in the cupboard under the sink. Please don’t try anything, I will stop you and neither of us want that again.” Missy snorted and shoved past him, disappearing into the bathroom. The Doctor busied himself, changing the sheets and reorganising the carnage within her living area. All the while, he heard her running the bath and splashing around as she got into it and began to wash. He left it ten minutes before he joined her, peering into the bathroom and waiting for her to notice.

 

“Are you going to come in or are you just going to lurk?” Her voice had more bite to it now as it echoed around the high-ceiling of the bathroom. “Am I allowed in?” Missy tutted, waved him in and went back to running the sponge over her collarbone. “You make it sound like I have any say in the matter.” “You do, Missy. If you want privacy I can leave you in peace.” “I’ve had privacy for the past week. I don’t want it now.” The Doctor hovered, eyes focusing on the mosaic tile on the wall just above where Missy’s foot is placed on the bath edge. “Sit down,” she barked, patience at its end. “You’re making me uncomfortable.” 

 

He did as he was told, pulling the toilet seat down and sitting there. His eyes hovered over her dirty pyjamas and knickers and he found himself coughing again. “Do you want me to throw these away?” He asked quietly. They could be washed and salvaged but he doubted she’d want to be reminded of her indiscretion. Missy stared pointedly ahead, making a real effort to control her breathing. “I should think so,” she muttered and he could hear the shame in her voice. The Doctor nodded, collecting a bin liner from under the sink and shoving the pyjamas into it. 

 

They remained in silence for half an hour or so, Missy’s skin turning wrinkly in the water as he thought of things to say to break the atmosphere. He couldn’t do it in the end and it was Missy that spoke. “I wet myself,” she laughed in disbelief. “I was laying in my own urine for a day and a half and you didn’t even come down to check on me. Not once.” She turns her face to the Doctor and studies him carefully. Her hair is piled up on her head and bigger than he ever imagined it could be. He can see the grease within the frizz and resists the urge to tell her she should wash it. He doesn’t want her to think of him as her carer. The Doctor’s eyes land on that same mosaic tile and he spies the slightest crack in its interior, he resolves to check it later to ensure she isn’t using it to smuggle things in to the Vault.

 

“Look at me.” Missy’s sharp orders force him to face her again. She’s pale but her cheeks are flushed red. He knows its part embarrassment but more anger. Anger at him, to be precise. Her eyebrows pinch together in concentration and he watches her mouth curl spitefully as she forms her next words. “Does that make you good?” She spits, Glaswegian burr seeping through into every word. He doesn’t respond, knows she’s not finished. “Is this part of your plan to turn me good? Treat me no better than a dog you found wandering around some estate, whining and howling and starving all the while trying to avoid the stones the local kids are throwing at it. Am I supposed to thank you? Run to the door to greet you tail wagging, tongue hanging out in anticipation.” 

 

She pauses here and provides an illustration, tongue hanging out of her mouth as she pants. Her eyes are alight with anger and he thinks she could kill anyone with just that glare. She’s still panting and he wishes she would stop because he doubts she realises quite how mad she looks. There’s something deeply sad about when she hasn’t quite grasped her own madness. “And then I roll over so you can scratch my belly and tell me I’m a good girl and give me treats. Except!” She’s shouting now, angry voice high pitched, erratic and bouncing off every corner of the bathroom. “Except, I’m not quite the good girl you want me to be yet, am I? I’m still a bit rabid, a bit of a risk that could turn on the kiddies so you keep me locked up and swat me on the nose occasionally. But, Doctor… No, no, wait sorry, I should say Master,” she glares at him pointedly and continues, “you need to be careful because I’m not quite house trained and you might come back to find me in a nasty, yellow puddle. That’s okay for you though, isn’t it? Because then you can find me with my tail between my legs, waiting for you to forgive me and make me better again. You’ll bathe me and then let me lay my head in your lap as you pet me and tell me I need to try harder to be better.”

 

Words stop leaving Missy’s mouth after that, instead she descends into a series of noises he thinks are meant to resemble a dog. Pushing herself up onto her knees, her hands rest on the edge of the bath as she whines and sniffs and howls and yaps eventually breaking into a series of hearty barks. Briefly, the Doctor wonders why she’s so preoccupied with canine metaphors. She’s really committed to this example and he’s sure she’s barely seen an earth dog in her lives. As he watches her, he tries not to think of the old earth saying barking mad. Can’t manage it and instead looks away, unable to stomach the sight of her like this. Missy’s attempt at barking is louder now, echoing around the entire Vault and not just the bathroom. If Nardole happened to walk past right now, the Doctor doesn’t know what he’d think. The Doctor himself doesn’t know what to think as he watches her behaviour unravel further. It’s like she’s malfunctioning in front of his eyes and he doesn’t know what to do. 

 

Suddenly, there’s silence. It’s like a hurricane has ripped through the room and taken everything with it, leaving an unnatural peace in its wake. Missy’s expression has hardened and there’s a façade of sanity back in place. Her icy eyes meet his and she dares him to contradict anything she’s just said. He can’t find the words and stares at her with his mouth open. He’s seen a performance like that from her before, of course, but it had always been in front of others. Then, he’d managed to convince himself that the extent of his friend’s insanity was just for show- to make everyone else feel uncomfortable. Now, he’s not so sure. It hits him like a punch to the gut just how sick she is. Missy’s eyes are still unblinking as she watches his every move. There’s still a redness to her cheeks as her lips quirk upwards into a smile that quickly descends into a low chuckle. 

 

“Missy,” the Doctor whispers because he doesn’t know what else to say. He’s standing up before he realises he’s doing it and walking towards the door. “Running away again?” She sneers, voice turning playful as she coos, “will you at least leave some newspaper down in my cage?” He swallows, walks back towards her and crouches down, searching her eyes for any sign that the Missy that helps him mark essays and plan lectures and beats him at scrabble is there. At that moment, she isn’t. “I’m not running away. I’ll be in the lounge area.” He stands back up, knees creaking as he does, and unclips her hair letting the greasy ringlets drop free. “You need to wash your hair,” he says, deciding that maybe a carer is exactly what she needs as he turns and leaves the bathroom. 

 

The minutes pass slowly at first as he waits for her. He tries sitting in his favourite chair by the fireplace but is fidgeting too much and eventually decides to get up and do something useful. He starts by brewing a batch of mixed berries fruit tea for them both. Despite Missy’s best protestations that she hated all things human, she had a soft spot for that tea. It also always managed to calm her down. Then he sprays the sheets with a lavender spray from Yunper, making sure he gets the pillows especially. Finally, he’s sorting through the canvas bag he’d bought in, pulling Yana out and placing him on Missy’s chair. She sweeps into the room, draped in a dressing gown that’s far too big for her and towel drying her hair. He watches warily, trying to gauge her mood. 

 

“Doctor,” she sings and sounds much more like the scrabble playing Missy. “You did stay.” She walks into the kitchen area, eyes flickering over the bio-locked drawers in frustration. They contain all the goodies and sharp things but all she’ll get is a nasty shock if she tried to open it. “I said I would,” he says cautiously as he follows behind her and tries to keep up with her mood swings. “Lovely,” she pops her lips, catching sight of the tea. “Oh, even lovelier,” she beams picking up the paper cup and taking a sip. “I like this tea. It’s handsome,” she comments. 

 

She’s using not-quite right English adjectives again and the Doctor can’t help but smile at her. He finds it all rather endearing that she doesn’t have the same grasp on English- or any other earth language for that matter- as him. She could easily choose to speak Gallifreyan when it’s just the two of them but she selects English or sometimes French or Spanish and on the very rare occasion, Korean. She’s such a wordsmith and a wonderful orator in Gallifreyan- all forms of it- and their ancient mother tongue really let’s her intelligence shine through. That’s not to say that she doesn’t sound intelligent in other languages- she does- it just tickles him that she struggles with little words when she’s trying to be colloquial. 

 

“It’s handsome, is it?” He laughs softly and she nods obliviously. “Handsomely scrummy.” The Doctor laughs again but stills as he remembers her earlier mood. “Missy,” he ventures carefully. “Are you okay, now?” He asks, because he doesn’t know what else to say or how else to broach the subject. He knows he can’t leave it though. She looks at him, wet hair plastered to her pale face, and nods. “Are we okay?” She snorts, nods again. “Hun, I raised my voice a wee bit. It’s what we do, of course we’re okay.” The Doctor balks at her- the display he’d witnessed was not her raising her voice slightly; it was one bark away from a full breakdown. He catches her examining him, a look of confusion painted on her face. “You can be dramatic sometimes, dear” she tuts and leans back against the worktop. He realises then, he had been right, she had no idea how bizarre her behaviour had been. He suddenly wondered how long she had spent alone to think the way she behaved was normal. He nods dumbly at her and chews his lip in consideration. 

 

“I’m hungry. Will you make me some cheese on toast please?” Missy’s always been impeccable with manners and the Doctor nods instantly. “Certainly, I’m pleased you have an appetite.” It is a rarity and something he wants to encourage as much as possible. “I’ll bring it over when it’s ready,” he nods in the direction of their chairs of choice this month. “Yana’s over there,” he says quietly, still feeling guilty for taking him and skirting around the things they need to talk about. Missy’s eyes brighten and she disappears off in search of the faux feline. 

 

It's later still when the Doctor finally brings himself to address the list of issues they needed to discuss. “Do you understand why I was angry the other day?” He says suddenly, looking over at Missy as she showers Yana with attention. “Missy?” He repeats when she doesn’t respond. He can’t tell whether she’s listening or not. “Yes, yes I heard you,” she croons. “You were angry that I shot your round friend. But Doctor, I knew he wasn’t human and I couldn’t hurt him that much. I was only playing.” “That’s not the point. You might not have hurt him badly but you did hurt him.” Missy scoffs, rolls her eyes and goes back to stroking Yana. “He needs lots of cuddles, he’s missed me” “Nardole?” The Doctor asks incredulously. “Yana!” Missy scoffs in response. He watches her with the robotic cat, sees her using it as a barrier and softens his voice.

 

“Missy, come on, I’m trying to talk to you properly. We need to work out something because I don’t want this to happen again.” He’s talking about it all- about her hurting Nardole, making weapons, getting herself worked up to levels of hysteria. “I didn’t even kill him, Doctor. A few years ago, I would have killed him in an instant.” “Okay,” the Doctor says in a low voice of consideration. “But why did you do it Missy?” He knows what the answer is, wants to see if she’ll tell him the truth. “I wanted to see what sound he made when he screamed.” “No, Missy, I’ll give you another chance. Why did you do it?” She sighs, looks over at him. “Are you getting off on this? Do you like having this power over me?” The Doctor shakes his head. “I’m trying to help you.” She tuts and her face darkens into a scowl. “I wanted to see you, you hadn’t been for days and I thought you’d forgotten me.”

 

The Doctor nods as he finally receives the answer he wants. “You can’t do that to get my attention,” he says but there’s not bite to his words. “You know you can contact me via the psychic paper if there’s an issue.” “But there was no issue.” He remembers how literal his friend is. “Okay, if there’s an issue or if you’re lonely. It’s okay to be lonely.” Missy swallows. “Will you actually come?” The Doctor tilts his head in consideration. “I will try to get here as soon as I can. I must teach, Missy. I need to make sure people think I’m leading a normal life and keep suspicion away from the Vault.” “There were some drunk students outside the doors the other day,” she comments. “I don’t like them getting too close, they smell.” The Doctor laughs, “try teaching them. Look, I’ll try and get some more barriers up around the stairwell, okay?” Missy nods. 

 

“I’m tired now,” Missy murmurs after a few moments. “Did you get some more of those yummy tablets?” The Doctor nods and touches his jacket pocket. He worries briefly whether she is depending on them too much and vows that that’s something that can be addressed soon. “Did you sleep at all while I was gone?” Missy shakes her head, I drifted a bit when I’d stopped throwing things around. I did try though.” The Doctor stands up, “I’ll put something in your tea now. Is that okay?” She nods and yawns. He could probably get away with not giving her the sleeping tablets, she was that tired, but he didn’t want to start going behind her back now. This rehabilitation needs to be built on trust. “Missy,” he pauses in contemplation she turns and looks at him curiously. “the way you behaved in the bath earlier, that wasn’t normal. You know that, don’t you?” She tilts her head and looks up at him in confusion.

 

“It wasn’t?”

 

The Doctor sighs. “No, Missy, it wasn’t.”


	6. The Red Thread Theory

“Doctor,” Missy says her voice light and interested in something as it echoed around the Vault. It had been a good couple of weeks for the pair. Missy had settled and refrained from any outbursts like the ones she’d had over the last few weeks and the Doctor had found himself a lot calmer and amicable as a result. The Doctor sat in his armchair across from Missy who was sat at the table, bent over a large book she was clearly enthralled by. It was the summer holidays and the weather was stifling, even in the usually cool Vault. He had ditched his velvet jacket and multiple layers in favour of an open collared polo. Missy remained in her Victorian attire, though had been convinced by him to at least roll up her sleeves a bit and undo a few buttons. 

 

“Hmm,” he asked as he looked up lazily. The warm weather and long days made it impossible not to think of Gallifrey, but Gallifrey during the glory days of their youth. “This is interesting. The red thread theory.” The Doctor stood and approached Missy at the table. He paused momentarily and admired the pages of Gallifreyan she’d written out in a leather-bound notebook before pulling a seat out next to her. “The red thread theory,” she repeats looking up at him as she tested out the words. “It’s like us. Even though it’s a silly little human tale, it’s like us.” 

 

“A silly little human tale?” The Doctor laughs, picking up the book and reading the title. “Book of Popular Myths and Legends from Around the Globe,” the Doctor read pointedly. It was a 1926 edition of a popular encyclopaedia that the Doctor had picked up back in the days when he was all curls and teeth and scarf. “That’s from around this globe,” he raises his eyebrows at her. “You seem to be rather enjoying silly little human tales now.” He teased, knowing that she was in a placid mood and he could get away with it. Missy smiled and shrugged. “When in Rome,” she trilled and tapped her fingers along the table before puffing her cheeks out. “It’s hot today,” she commented as she fanned herself with one hand and held her mass of hair up with the other. “Where’s your hair clip gone?” The Doctor commented, scanning the vicinity for her hair clip of choice. He’d altered it for her, strengthening it to keep as much of her hair under control as possible. “Um,” Missy’s head looked back up and she pointed to the vanity table. “It was in there last time I checked. I had a head ache last night so let it down.” The Doctor stood, looked through the immaculately organised drawer and found the clip. “Normal headache or voices headache?” He checked carefully, standing behind her and twirling her hair into a semblance of an up-do.

 

“Normal,” she confirmed and the Doctor released a breath of relief he hadn’t been aware of holding. “It’s hot weather, you need to remember to drink.” She may have been more stable in recent weeks, but the Doctor continued to remind her to look after herself in basic ways. “Yes,” Missy murmured, looking back down at her notes. He wasn’t sure what she’d been doing, but it seemed to have kept her amused. “Have some now, while I’m watching” he encouraged. Missy scowled but took the water bottle, smiling when she saw the clear liquid with fresh cucumber. “I like it with the green things,” she commented before taking a sip and passing it to the Doctor. “Cucumber,” the Doctor reminded. “I’ll get Nardole to pick up some more at the shop.” Missy scrunched up her nose. “Can you get some of that Ewigko mint as well? That’s nice in water. Do you remember the drink we had during the Gallifreyan summers? It’ll taste like that.” “I can’t. I can’t go off planet, I need to guard someone in a Vault. Ring any bells?” 

 

Missy rolled her eyes and leaned in conspiratorially. “I won’t tell anyone,” she stage-whispered. “Not even Nardole.” “It’s not happening, Missy. Maybe in a few centuries, eh?” She gave up, leant back into her chair and took another swig of the water. “What are you scared of Doctor?” She sang, breaking into a whistled rendition of the Great Escape. The Doctor eyed her and tried not to laugh. Of course, his biggest fear was her escaping. He had her in his grasp for the first time in centuries and after thirty odd years, she was only just starting to make progress. And small progress at that. If she did escape now, he had no doubt that she would fall at the first hurdle. That was the thing, you see, they’d reached an amicable peace for now but the Doctor knew as soon as anything was mentioned that wasn’t casual chit-chat, disagreements would emerge. After how unsettled Missy had been the last few months, he was willing to skirt around the tougher subjects for the time being. 

 

“You know exactly what I’m scared of,” he leaned back and found himself reading over her notes. She was writing short stories and poems, some based around earth folklore and others based on stories she’d picked up from her travels through the stars. Missy didn’t notice him reading the notes, going back to reading her book. Catching sight of the multi-coloured post it notes she’d requested, he examined the scrawled notes further. 

Tell the Doctor this one. 

Revise this one. It’s like what happened before the Vault. In capitals, she’d added: YOU CAN TRUST HIM.

You found this one funny but he won’t. Your type of humour not his- lots of death. 

 

Missy looked up, catching sight of what he was reading and snapping the notebook shut instantly, drawing it into her chest. “That’s mine. You can’t read it.” The Doctor held his hands up in apology. “Okay. I’m sorry,” he muttered in response. Missy nodded and placed the notebook back down on the table. “Is there anything you want to talk to me about, Missy?” She shook her head, a common response the Doctor was used to receiving when he asked. He didn’t expect what came next though. “It’s too soon still,” she explained. It was barely above a whisper. “I’ll talk about it soon.” 

 

The Doctor smiled sadly and tried not to think of what had caused her this much pain. “Whenever you’re ready.” Missy beamed, pushing the darker mood to one side. “So, this red thread theory states that there is an invisible red thread that unites people that are meant to meet.” He nodded, pretending that he hadn’t heard the story before in several different variants. "Just like us," Missy repeated, clearly proud of herself. “You’re telling me I’m stuck with you?” He said once she had finished. His eyebrows were raised teasingly as he observed her. “Yes. Forever and ever,” she declared smugly.

 

“Forever and ever,” the Doctor echoed as he stood up and walked towards the kitchen area. “In that case, you can help wash the potatoes for dinner.” She was having a good day. He wasn’t going to wait on her on a good day. “Can’t I cut the vegetables?” Missy tested, following him with a wide smirk. “Absolutely not,” he replied instantly. “No sharp objects, you know the rules.”

 

Missy tutted and leaned against the work top. “I think you’re just frightened I’ll use it to cut our invisible red thread. Imagine,” she paused for dramatic effect, “being severed from me for eternity. Wouldn’t it be terrifying?”

 

The Doctor looked at her and nodded earnestly. “It would be the most terrifying thing in the universe.”


	7. Peaceful Negotiation

It stank but Skaro always did, especially in the cells beneath the Dalek sewers. Missy heard them rounding the corner, talking between themselves in their stupid robotic voices, and placed her mask of indifference back on. It was a mask she’d perfected several regenerations back and decided was worth keeping. It was easy: eyes half shut as she focused on something in the middle distance while her lips remained slightly parted so she could release that mastered sigh of annoyance.

 

It was easy, she reminded herself as she struggled slightly to shift her features into place. It was easier, she thought grimly, when her face wasn’t swollen and she wasn’t being pumped for regeneration energy. When she got out of here, because she would, the Doctor would live to regret the day he left her here.

 

The door rattled as it was pushed open. Missy looked up, head heavy and expression not as blasé as she would have liked. Two Daleks swept in, they were earlier than normal for their daily rounds she noted before looking past them to the two humanoids that followed. This was new. This could be her way out. Suddenly, her inability to execute her favoured look of disinterest wasn’t so bad. From what she could gather through a visual assessment, the visitors were human. Human and male. This face always got away with so much when human males were involved. The bruised and bloodied face could only add to their innate and hilarious primal urge to rescue her.

 

It was brilliant, she mused, letting down her mask and forcing tears to her swollen eyes as she looked over at the man on the right. He looked the most like a caveman and they never could resist a damsel in distress. In half an hour, she’d be out of these chains with the humans dead at her feet while she highjacked their ride out of here. As the Daleks and men moved further in, Missy began to consider the situation properly.

 

It was strange- strange that the humans hadn’t been killed on the spot by the angry pepper pots. Stranger still was the way they were approaching her. Neither man looked at all appalled by her dishevelled appearance and were seemingly unconvinced by her act of vulnerability. Maybe they weren’t human or maybe they already knew who she was. Even the male humans were less willing to help when they realised who she really was. Reassessing them, Missy realised she recognised the uniforms they were wearing. Not human then. That rather messed up her plan. She’d made it through all her lives so far without encountering these executioners. It seemed her luck was running out. 

 

“This is the Time Lord that calls herself the Mistress,” one of the Daleks informed. “Take her and remove your missiles from our planet as per our agreement.” 

 

One of the men stepped forward, armed raised as the device attached to his wrist scanned her from head to toe. It would seem she’d become Dalek leverage. 

 

“Time Lady,” she corrected with a snarl as she eyed them and considered her options. They were running out fast. 

 

“Positive identification,” the man with the device shouted over his shoulder. “Get the stun gun.” It was like watching Dumb and Dumber with top range weapons. 

 

Missy managed to keep her cool until they approached, weapon raised and ready to shoot. Cold terror ran through her as she felt the barrel against her temple. She knew where she was going and knew there was no escape from that place. She watched his finger twitch on the trigger, counting down.

Four.  
Three.  
Two.  
One.

BANG.

 

Missy jolted awake, clutching the sheets to her chest and trying to ignore the cold sweat that ran down her back and caused her night dress to stick uncomfortably to her back. Blinking, she automatically reached for Yana and started to pat down his fur repetitively as she observed the odd scene in front of her. The Doctor and Nardole were crouched by the doors of the Vault, surrounded by a mass of papers and books that had been knocked over along with the side table. 

 

Guns and bombs weren’t the only thing that went bang, Missy reminded herself as she forced her breathing to calm down. 

 

“Nardole!” The Doctor hissed in a whisper. Glaring at the cyborg, he knelt to retrieve the stack of marked essays. “She’s only been asleep five minutes. I told you to be quiet, you know she’s not sleeping well while I’m trying to wean her off those sleeping tablets.” “Yes, and I told you that I couldn’t carry the essays, books and plates at the same time,” Nardole shot back. “Why do I keep you around? Look, just take these out and I’ll bring the rest up tomorrow. I’m just glad she didn’t wake up.”

 

Nardole gulped as he looked up and caught sight of Missy staring back at him looking very much awake. “I wouldn’t be too glad yet,” he said quietly. The Doctor looked at him in confusion before turning around and walking to the bed. “Missy. Oh Missy, come on, please” he said softly, perching on the edge of the bed and encouraging her to lay down. Her bony fingers clung to the sheets and he could make out every vein and bone under her thin, pale skin. She remained still, eyes following him as he sat down. “I’m not tired,” she lied refusing to lay down. 

 

“You are. It’s been four weeks since you last slept.” The Doctor knows this because it’s been exactly four weeks and a day since he gave Missy half a sleeping tablet. He’d been withholding anymore, knowing she so was growing dependent on them. It wouldn’t be long before she collapsed from sheer exhaustion. Missy looked away, embarrassed. She knew how obsessive her personality was when it came to everything and now the Doctor knew too. She suspected he’d always known, though. “I just slept. I was dreaming so I know I was asleep.” “That was five minutes, Missy. It’s not enough.” 

 

In a sudden burst of energy, Missy pushed him away and scrambled to throw something at him. There was nothing in reach- the Doctor hadn’t been stupid enough to leave things lying around- so she settled on Yana. In a swift movement, she launched the robotic cat at the Doctor’s head, smirking with satisfaction as it hit the Doctor square on the forehead and bounced along the floor. The cat hissed while the Doctor jumped back and cradled his head. He'd definitely made the right decision in not allowing her a real cat. Looking back up at Missy, he felt cheated but then he remembered who she really was. There was only so many times you could go into the lion’s den and not get bitten. 

 

Missy sat up on her knees, staring at the Doctor and sizing up his next move. She watched as he backed away from her, hands raised cautiously. “You hurt Yana,” he said in a low whisper. Missy laughed mirthlessly at him. Why did he have to be so patronising? “He’s a robotic cat,” she seethed. “You’re treating me like a child,” she stood up and prowled several steps towards him. “Worse still, you’re treating me like a human child. You need to sleep Missy. You need to eat Missy,” she drawled with narrow eyes. “I’m not human. I don’t need to sleep every night and I don’t need to eat regular meals. I’ve survived for centuries without your treasured human normality.” She’s pacing now, arms flailing around. She briefly wonders if she’s approaching one of those outbursts that the Doctor told her wasn’t normal. She pushed the thought out of her mind as soon as it came. There was no such thing as normal and even if there was, neither of them had ever been normal. 

 

“I spent several decades in a cave on Gallifrey, living from second to second. I’ve spent years as a living corpse. I’ve…I’ve,” she pauses mid-sentence and glares at him. He stares back with those grey eyes. They aren’t full of the anger and disappointment that usually stare back at her but instead there’s a sadness and something more. Missy recoils as she recognises pity and reaches for the bedside cabinet. “When you came to me Missy, you were on the brink of a regeneration. You were falling apart- I think every bone in your body was broken and your mind was in tatters.”

 

“That was thirty years ago,” she responds with a tut. “I slept off those injuries in a week.” “The physical ones,” he responds instantly and Missy pulls a face like she’s been burnt with a hot poker. “I told you right at the start that I was going to help you get better. That means working through the hard stuff and it means having a routine. Please, Missy, I haven’t seen your mind as…” “As fucked up?” “As hurt,” the Doctor corrects softly. “I haven’t seen your mind as hurt as this since you were a child.” Missy gulped and sat back on the bed. “You’re really worried about me,” she says in disbelief. He nods and dares to walk forward, picking Yana up as he re-joins her on the bed. “You haven’t had stability in any of your lives and I want to help you gain some.” 

 

Missy looked at him and considered his words. It had been a long time since anyone had cared about her. She’d waited centuries for the Doctor to worry about her again. “It’s hard,” she admitted, readjusting the sheets and taking Yana in her arms. “What is?” The Doctor encouraged, helping her lay down while she was distracted. He frowned as he felt the sweat coating her back, more nightmares then. “To sleep because when I close my eyes there are flashes of things.” “What things, Missy?” The Doctor presses. Missy laughs and shakes her head, pulling Yana in to her chest. “Different things. Mistakes I’ve made. Wars. Prisons,” she lists but doesn’t expand.

 

It was more than she’d given the Doctor in decades and he latched on to it. 

 

“That is hard,” the Doctor agreed. Tentatively, he reached up and ran a thumb along her hairline. Missy nuzzled against the touch, seemingly melting into it. She felt her eyes drift shut and forced them open. “Missy, you can sleep. I can see how tired you are,” he sighed and tried to project positive thoughts into her mind. She blocked the messages, scowling at him.

 

“Stroke my hair,” she demanded. 

“Close your eyes and I will”

“Stroke my hair and I’ll close my eyes soon,” Missy bargained keeping her eyes firmly open. 

“Okay,” the Doctor reasoned. “I’ll stroke your hair, you keep your eyes open but you tell me one thing that you’re scared of when you go to sleep.”

 

He expected her to reject his offer and turn away from him but was pleasantly surprised when she hummed in consideration. There was lots Missy feared when she went to sleep, she just had to decide which one was the easiest to tell him about. Reaching out for the sheets, she wrapped them around her tighter and considered her next set of negotiations.

“If I tell you,” she pauses and presses her head against his hand in a silent request for him to start stroking her hair. The Doctor couldn’t deny her such a small comfort. “If I tell you,” she repeated and stretched out like a cat, a small noise of pleasure passing through her lips as she felt his fingers massage her scalp. “Can you surprise me with something nice?” 

 

“Something nice,” the Doctor chuckles and digs his fingers deeper into her hair. She’d already got what she wanted out of him, he realised as he felt strands of her hair wrap around his fingers, and saw her opened eyes regarding him. He didn’t mind too much, she was distracted and he could see she was starting to fall asleep, head lulling to one side as her eyes lazily considered him. “What kind of something?” Missy shrugged and drew her lips into a half smile. “A surprise. Maybe you could take me out.”

 

The Doctor shook his head instantly, exactly the response she was expecting. 

 

“Can’t do that,” he said sternly. “But maybe I could set up a live feed so you can watch some of my lectures.” Something akin to excitement crossed Missy’s features and, though she tried to hide it, the Doctor caught it. “You love an audience,” she drawled. “Why would I want to watch space travel 101 hosted by an idiot that barely scraped through the Academy?” “Because you get lonely,” the Doctor offered, unoffended at her sharp words. “Plus, you can make notes to help me improve.” Missy chewed on her bottom lip and nodded. “You need all the help you can get,” she agreed eventually. “Well, I suppose I might tune in when the Magic Roundabout isn’t on.” 

 

For a few seconds, Miss watches the Doctor, soothed by his hand in her hair. She knows it’s only a matter of time before he asks her to fulfil her end of the bargain. One thing that haunted her and then she’d have to close her eyes and try to sleep. Wrapping her arm tighter around his body, she made sure she he couldn’t leave. “I’m not going anywhere,” he reassured. “Now, tell me one thing you’re scared of when you close your eyes.” 

 

Missy yawned. “Gallifreyan,” she murmured, changing from English to their native tongue. The Doctor nodded and knew she was tired when she resorted back to her first language. “Only one thing?” She questions and he nods. “And you can’t ask any more questions.” He nods again, though knows he’ll want to ask more. “You can just tell me one thing.” Missy tucks her head under his chin. 

 

“I dream of when they put the tube in my arm. It hurt and I felt out of control.” It was the thing that scared her the least but it was still something. She was fulfilling her end of the bargain.

 

“They?” 

 

“No questions, Doctor.” 

 

“Okay. I’m sorry, I forgot. “

 

Missy blinked and eventually closed her eyes. “You’ll stay all night?” She asked quietly. 

 

“Yes,” the Doctor promised. He doubted she’d be asleep all night, though. Missy didn’t reply and he felt her slip into a light sleep. 

 

Easing out of bed carefully, the Doctor walked to the desk and picked up his own notebook. Quickly, he jotted down a few words so he wouldn’t forget. Missy gave him so little that he needed to remember every detail she did let slip. 

 

They- who? Executioners…Daleks…Time Lords?  
Tube and pain- medical? Testing?   
Out of control- she’d never liked that. 

 

A muffled cry made the Doctor look up from his notes. He found Missy clutching Yana and looking around the room. She’d managed half an hour and that was a new record without sleeping tablets. As he approached the bed, he realised she was she half asleep. That made it easier. “It’s still night, Missy” he said softly as he joined her on the bed. Had she been more awake, Missy would probably have had something condescending to say. Instead, she just curled into him and clung to his shirt.

 

“I don’t like nights.”

 

“I know. We’ll do something nice in the morning.” 

 

It was a promise that he planned on keeping.


	8. Brilliant Genius?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy gets to watch the Doctor's lectures but struggles with the realities of her confinement. 
> 
> The Doctor's impressed with the promise of a young student. 
> 
>  
> 
> Trigger warning for mentions of self-harm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self- harm mentions.

It was a quiet Thursday morning in the Vault. 

 

Not that Missy knew it was a Thursday, now the Doctor had made the executive decision to remove all time markers from the Vault. Placing the brush she was using to groom Yana down on the bed, she looked at the empty space where her calendar had been. Looking over her shoulder, she was met with another two empty spaces where her radio set and television had once stood. 

 

Now the seconds rolled into minutes into hours into days into weeks into months into years without her even knowing. Time passed in the sickening, linear form while she was in the Vault whether she knew about it or not. A few weeks ago (she thinks it was a few weeks ago though it could have been days or months), she had cracked under the pressures of having to live each second moving forward. Gone were the days of hopping from one time period to the next- backwards, forwards, sideways, upwards and downwards. There used to be days when she could storm her way through ten decades before lunch. Now, every morning she woke up and every night she tried to go to sleep. She waited for her breakfast, lunch and dinner. She lived for the visits from the Doctor and she was even starting to enjoy the mornings Nardole spent sat with her. 

 

The realities of her sentence- one thousand years living like this- had struck her with horrific intensity one afternoon. It had come quite out of the blue, surprising herself even more than the Doctor and Nardole. One minute she’d been sat quietly, watching as the Doctor and Nardole adjusted the heaters for the approaching winter. In the next, she’d   
managed to get hold of one of the screwdrivers that had been left unattended. The mundane predictability of her life seemed to bore down on her all at once, her veins itched with restlessness and pumped away under her skin. 

 

Methodically, she had dug the sharp end of the screwdriver into her skin- pinpointing the blue vein trailing under the skin on the inside of her right arm. The skin had broken easily and she’d let out an ecstatic gasp as she twisted the screwdriver deeper and for the first time in longer than she could remember felt something other than boredom. Her actions made perfect sense to her then- and still did now. She couldn’t understand why the Doctor had reacted the way he had- shouting at her desperately to stop as she continued to take chunks out of her skin. He hadn’t calmed down as she’d tried to explain that she was letting out the restless time and breaking the routine. Really, he had left her with no choice but to swipe at him and Nardole with the bloodied tool. 

 

That was the last thing she remembered about the event that led to the confiscation of anything that let her know how much time was passing. She’d been drugged and restrained, waking up some time later with a headache and a sufficiently emptier Vault. 

 

All because she’d had one little breakdown, she’d lost her last grasp on the outside world. It was cruel taking away a Time Lady’s sense of time, not that the Doctor listened to that line of argument. Scowling down at her still-bandaged forearm, she picked at the dressing. If she could just get a look at the wounds underneath, she could start to gauge how much time had passed and try and get her bearings from there. 

 

“Leave it,” a chirpy voice warned from behind her position in the containment field. It was Nardole. It was one of his cleaning mornings. She’d used to be able to tell the day and time based on what tasks the cyborg was doing yet, under the Doctor’s order, the cleaning and tasks had stopped taking any patterns. “The Doctor will check it for you later.”

 

Nardole hummed away as he re-entered the main living area of the Vault, mop and bucket in hand. His chirpy tune filled the room and echoed off the walls. Missy watched from within her containment field, picking up Yana once more and starting to brush through the fur once more. 

 

“Will there be a lecture today?” She asked hopefully. The Doctor had kept to his promise and set up a livestream to his lectures. Lately, the days she’d been allowed to watch a lecture had been the best days. 

 

Nardole nodded, pulling out some wires and setting up the screen. 

 

“The Doctor’s said you can watch two today and a recording of one you missed last week, if you like. He has a lot of marking to do and won’t be down to see you for a while.”

 

Missy could tell Nardole was choosing his words carefully, ensuring he avoided mentioning times of day. 

 

“How generous of him,” she drawled. Pulling open her drawer and retrieving a leather-bound notebook and pen. “I’d like a cup of tea while I’m watching this please.”

 

XXXXXXXX

 

It was a large class today, the Doctor noted as he fussed with his notes and looked out at the various faces. They seemed to look younger every year. Locating the small camera, he let his lips form into a small smile and nodded for the purposes of his secret viewer. It was the same gesture he’d done every time he knew Missy would be watching. 

 

“Right, today we’re going to be talking about History. Big subject and we’ll be focusing on human history.” 

 

The lecture theatre erupted into laughter. That was typical Doctor humour, the kind of rubbish jokes that a kindly uncle would make over Christmas dinner. 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

In the Vault, Missy tutted and made a note. Nardole gave a belly laugh. 

 

“That was a good one. The squishy ones think he’s being a bit daft but really it’s them being daft.” 

 

“Yes, yes a joke is just super-duper when it needs to be explained by you.” Missy said with a roll of her eyes. “He needs to stop going for cheap laughs and actually provide something of intellectual substance. This is why he never got the lecture post at the Academy. Well, it’s one of the reasons anyway.” 

 

Reaching for the wine gums, she plopped two in her mouth and moved them to her cheeks holding them there as though she were a hamster. That was an odd habit she’d picked up in recent weeks. It was harmless enough that the Doctor had left that one pass. 

 

“How come you get to call them the squishy ones, but I can’t?” 

 

Her voice was one of mild annoyance but it was muffled by the two sweets stored in her mouth. 

 

“Because I’ve never actually squashed them,” Nardole said instantly. Narrowing his eyes at her, the cyborg sighed. “I can’t hear you properly when you do that. There’s plenty left, just eat them and take another one if you want it.” 

 

“The Doctor says I’m allowed to do this,” she points at her cheek and smiles as much as she can with two wine gums in her mouth. There wasn’t much she could do these days so she took pride in anything she was allowed. 

 

Nardole went to say something else but was silenced instantly as Missy turned her attention back to the video link. 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

“Before I begin, does anyone have any questions?” 

 

Several hands went up around the room, as they always did with his lectures. 

 

“Okay, you, glasses.”

 

“We were told to prepare for a lecture on the biochemical factors relating to violence. Why are you lecturing on History?”

 

'Because there’s a psychotic Time Lady detained downstairs that’s watching this lecture and probably shouldn’t be reminded about violence in any form' was what the Doctor wanted to say. He had to be careful what lectures he let Missy watch. His whole series on the meaning of Time had had to be changed since he decided to withhold the date and time from her. 

 

“There’s a lot of violence in human history, it’s not that much of a jump. Next question” he answered promptly, pointing at another student. 

 

“Why are all your clocks turned around? How will we know when the lectures over?”

 

Again, the real answer was Missy. This Q and A looked set to become repetitive. 

 

“I’ll tell you when it’s over, don’t be a slave to time. No more questions, it’s time to get on with the topic at hand.” 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

It’s late evening when the Doctor finally makes it down to the Vault. He’s tired from hours spent marking student essays. They were of their usual low standard, but there was one that stuck out. It stuck out so much that he’d bought it down to show Missy. He thought even she might be impressed with it. Nardole had made an appearance in his office mid-afternoon with all the video link equipment. Missy had enjoyed to lectures, according to the cyborg, but also had a lot of notes for him on things to improve. There was nothing new there. 

 

“Missy?” The Doctor called out as he entered the Vault. 

 

The Time Lady was bundled up on her bed, half asleep as she read through her notes. Nardole had mentioned she’d become tired and asked him to leave before the final, pre-recorded lecture had ended. He had to keep an eye on that, he didn’t want her mood plummeting again. 

 

“I’m here, professor” Missy said, sitting up and shooting him a smile. Her cheeks were still puffed out with those same sweets from earlier. The Doctor rolled his eyes but said nothing. 

 

“What did you think today?” He asked, perching on the end of the bed and motioning for her to hold out her injured arm for inspection. 

 

Missy shrugged, held her arm out obediently. “It was alright. I liked the bit on the plague but don’t know how you got there when you were talking about the American Civil War. You need more focus, I’ve made notes. Can you get me some more coloured pens?”

 

“I’ll read the notes,” he said as he started to unwrap the dressing. He was pleased to see Missy hadn’t messed with the dressing. “We’ll see about the coloured pens. How are you feeling today?” 

 

“I wasn’t ill. Why are you treating me like I was?”

 

“Hurting your arm wasn’t something you’d have done if you were feeling well, Missy.”

 

It bothered him that she still didn’t seem to understand what was wrong with her actions. 

 

“I’ve always done it. I knew what I was doing.”

 

“Why were you doing it?” 

 

He’d asked this every night. Each time he’d hoped he would get a response that made sense to someone that wasn't her. 

 

“To stop the itching of Time. I don’t like it moving this way, it’s not right.” 

 

Today was not the day he’d get a coherent response. 

 

“Okay.”

 

He said no more on the topic and applied a soothing gel to the cuts. They were healing but not as fast as he’d hoped. 

 

“What time is it, Doctor?” 

 

She asked him every day, always received the same answer. 

 

“I’m not telling you, Missy.” 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

After dinner, the Doctor watches with baited breath as Missy reads the essay he’d been astounded by. She’d been pulling approving faces and shooting wry smiles throughout reading it and the Doctor couldn’t believe she might be impressed. 

 

“Well, well, well” Missy cooed, placing the essay down in front of her. 

 

“It’s brilliant, isn’t it?” The Doctor gushed. Missy raised an eyebrow and made a small clicking noise. 

 

“I suppose,” she shrugged. “The student must be…”

 

“A genius,” the Doctor finished for her. 

 

“A brilliant genius,” Missy responded. “It is nice to hear you say something nice to me, dear.” 

 

He looked up, confused. She pulled a pen out of her hair and started to make a note at the bottom of the page. 

 

“I wasn’t talking about you, Missy” He scoffed. “This Tess girl, she’s quite spectacular. Maybe I should try and find her. Offer her some extra lessons.”

 

Missy looked up at him, an odd look on her face. “Hmm. You could show her all of space and time, blow her tiny human mind. Oh, but Doctor, what if she’s not human? Maybe there’s another alien life living amongst us” she mock gasped. 

 

The Doctor scowled. 

 

“I checked my class list, there’s no one named Tess Rism listed. She’s an enigma.”

 

“No, please, not another impossible girl.”

 

“Don’t,” the Doctor warned. 

 

Missy pushed the essay across the table, standing and heading to her bed. She was tired again. Already. 

 

“Doctor, how long have we known each other?”

 

“Too long and not long enough. Why?” 

 

Missy shrugged, rolled her eyes at his dramatics. 

 

“I just thought we’d both be used to certain things by now. I’m going to bed.” 

 

The Doctor looked on in confusion. She’d always loved riddles. Little puzzles and tricks and…

 

And…

 

Aliases. 

 

Glancing down at the essay, he read the scrawling note made by Missy’s hand. 

 

Tess Rism…Mistress- Really, Doctor? It wasn’t even a clever cover. You’re getting slow in your old age. 

 

Missy emerged from the bathroom to see the Doctor sat on the end of her bed. 

 

“It’s still a brilliant essay, Tess Rism.”

 

Missy nodded, sunk down on the mattress. 

 

“I know."

 

"Also, I’m quite relieved it wasn’t a human essay. I had to look up some definitions.”

 

“Well, that happens when you read essays written by brilliant geniuses, my dear Doctor.” 

 

The Doctor stood, placed a kiss on her forehead and turned to leave. 

 

“I’ll be back soon and Missy…”

 

“Mhmm?”

 

Missy questioned, voice muffled as she teetered on the cusp of sleep. 

 

“Take those bloody wine gums out your mouth.”


	9. Pet Therapy

Nardole strolled into the Doctor’s office humming merrily to himself. Halting, he glanced at the Time Lord sat behind his desk searching the internet. 

 

“I wish you would stop that. It’s 1977, what if someone walked in?” He tutted, shaking his head to illustrate his disapproval. “Though I doubt you care about the laws of time at this stage.” 

 

The Doctor looked up at him, scowled and went back to the screen. 

 

“No one will walk in. No one other than you,” he shrugged. “Why are you back so soon anyway?”

 

Shucking off his raincoat, Nardole walked around the desk and peered at what the Doctor was reading. A wiki ask page, dated from the early twenty-first century, filled the screen. The Cyborg cooed at the fluffy rodents that stared out from the screen. 

 

“It’s raining,” Nardole shrugged and pointed at the screen. “What are they?” 

 

“Guinea Pigs. Earth Guinea Pigs, that is. Humans seem to recommend them as a good first pet for children.” 

 

“They’re cute,” Nardole beamed, “but you don’t have children. Oh wait. Sir…I don’t think Missy should be trusted with any live animals. We’ve had this discussion before.” 

 

The Doctor nodded and stood up briskly. 

 

“Yes. I know, but you’re not the decision maker here. Did you pick up the things from the Superdrug that I asked for?” 

 

Nardole handed over the carrier bag, still looking at screen. 

 

“Thank you. I’m going down to the Vault, I’ll probably be back tonight.” 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

The Vault was quiet when the Doctor entered. The artificial lighting was dimming and giving the impression of early evening. In the far corner, two books were placed face down on the coffee table next to a half empty mug of tea. Missy’s cardigan was folded neatly and rested on the arm of the sofa. All signs of Missy were there, apart from Missy herself. 

 

“Hello,” the Doctor called out. “Missy, I’m here.”

 

“I’m in the loo. I’ll be out in a minute,” she replied. 

 

Her voice was calm and breezy. The last few months had been good for them- Missy had been well, receptive and had even spoken more openly to him about what had happened before the Vault. There had even been days where she humoured his lectures on morals. Taking his usual seat, the Doctor read the book titles. One was one of Venus’ 31st century classics while the other was War and Peace in its original Russian. In the next room, the Doctor heard the flush of the chain and water running from the tap. Missy’s hums echoed around the bathroom and the Doctor was pleased that the extra freedoms he’d granted her seemed to be paying off. She seemed to be happier and more settled. 

 

“Hello Doctor,” Missy trilled. Padding barefoot into the main area of the Vault draped in a dressing gown, she sank into the seat gracefully. Crossing one leg of the other, she let her hand trail into her hair and played with her locks absently. 

 

The Doctor looked up, smiled at the sight of her and held out the Superdrug bag. 

 

“Hello,” he said and watched Missy scour through the bag. “You look well today.” 

 

“I’m feeling well,” Missy replied as she pulled out the hair removal cream and deodorant. She pouted as she read the back of the box. “I asked for a razor.”

 

“I’m not getting you a razor,” the Doctor said resolutely. “Why do you want all that stuff anyway?” 

 

“My legs are fuzzy. I like them when they’re smooth” she stated, uncrossing her legs and waggling them in illustration. 

 

In the past, the Doctor had taken care of things like that for her but as she’d got better she had shown more of an interest in taking care of herself. The Doctor smiled, pleased with the progress. Missy caught sight of the smile and shirked away from him. 

 

“I’m not going to sleep with you,” she said quickly. “Just so you know, I don’t want to have sex. I’m sorry but I don’t feel like it.” 

 

The Doctor shook his head and furrowed his brows. He wasn’t sure where her outburst had come from. She’d said nothing about sex throughout her time in the Vault. It was something she never usually bothered with, not unless she was using it to her advantage. To Missy, sex was about power not intimacy. Confined to the Vault, she could never use it to gain power over the Doctor and so there’d be no point in bothering with it. Not in Missy’s mind, at least. For the Doctor, there was the question of ethics and the issue of whether her varied mental state made her unable to consent played heavy on his conscience. 

 

“I know that, Missy” he said quietly. “Please don’t worry.”

 

He’d noticed how much she worried since she’d been secluded in the Vault, wondered how he could alleviate her anxieties. 

 

“I wasn’t worried. I was just saying.”

 

The Doctor could tell she was worried- her hands were fidgeting and picking at the plastic of the carrier bag. He didn’t say anymore on the subject. 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

Three days later, the Doctor returns to the Vault. This time, he’s carrying a small cardboard box with holes in. The box rustles and squeaks and the Doctor tries hard not to drop it as he unlocks the Vault’s security settings.

 

Missy’s lounging on the sofa when he appears, neither fully awake nor fully asleep as she idly picks at the scar on her right arm. It had been years since she’d cut her arm with that screwdriver but the scarring hadn’t faded. Neither Time Lord had figured out why it remained, but the Doctor had provided her with some medicinal oil in the hope it would heal eventually. As the Doctor enters, Missy drops her arms and pulls down her sleeves. She’s pleased he's here- her mood was teetering on the edge of the abyss. 

 

Turning around, she shoots him a confused look as he sets down the box. Missy stands and edges towards the table. The box shuffles along the table and causes her to freeze, hovering a safe distance from the table before curiosity gets the better of her and she continues her pursuit. 

 

“Did you finally bring me a real kitten?” She asks hopefully. “Yana might get jealous.”

 

The Doctor shakes his head, opens the box and reveals two baby guinea pigs huddled together in the corner. Missy’s brow creases and her nose twitches as she assesses the creatures. He doubts she knows what they are- they’re indigenous to earth and she barely has time to learn the differences between humans, let alone earth’s rodents. 

 

“Is that our supper?” She asks, unimpressed. “They eat them in some places on this silly little planet. I helped catch and domesticate them when I spent some time living with an indigenous tribe in the Andean Highlands.”

 

The Doctor gawps at her and Missy rolls her eyes. 

 

“I’ve told you before, I do have a life outside of you.”

 

She’s snapping at him and isn’t sure why. It’s something about having a new, unexpected thing in her living space. The Doctor probably meant it as a surprise but she’s never liked surprises. 

 

“They’re for you…Not to eat, though” he clarifies. “I thought you’d like a pet as company.”

 

Missy nods and peers back into the box. 

 

“You trust me with them?”

 

The Doctor hesitates, he trusts her less now after her revelation about time spent in the Andes. 

 

“It’ll be a process. I’ll supervise all visits at first before I leave them in here with you. They’re supposed to be very affectionate pets once they’re tamed, Missy. I thought you’d like the company.”

 

“I like Yana,” Missy asserts coldly. 

 

She’s not quite sure of her reaction. Neither is the Doctor. 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

It’s the Doctor’s third attempt at getting Missy to interact with the guinea pigs when she finally shows an interest. Kneeling by their pen, she’s watching him hand feed the pair carrots. They’re pretty little things, she thinks as she admires the patterns on their fur coats. One is a beautiful tawny colour with white spots. The other is almost completely chocolate brown apart from the darkened patch over its right eye. The Doctor doesn’t say a word as Missy remains next to him, watching the guinea pigs. 

 

They look soft and Missy feels herself itching to stroke them. Reaching her hand into the pen, she stretches down to run her palm along the back of the tawny coloured one. It squeaks and jumps with a start, sending the other one running and a handful of carrots flying. The pair huddle together in the far corner and Missy curses under her breath. She goes to scoop them up and the Doctor pulls her back by the shoulders. 

 

“They’re nervous by nature, Missy” the Doctor says quietly. He reaches into the bag of mixed veg and pulls out a handful. “Hold your hand out,” he directs and places the vegetables in her palm. “Now be still and patient. It takes time to build trust.”

 

Still and patient are two things Missy is not by nature but, to her credit, she manages it. After a few minutes, the tawny coloured one approaches and starts to nibble at the offerings. 

 

“Can I pick it up?” Missy asks and the Doctor nods. They needed to get used to being held and now felt like as good a time as any. 

 

Gently, Missy picked it up, holding it close to her chest and cooing as it trembled and eventually settled. 

 

Several hours later, the Doctor is packing everything away again. He looks over at Missy, still cradling the tawny one she’d taken a shine to. Silently, he holds his hands out and hopes she’ll make it as pain free as possible. She does, handing the guinea pig over without a word of fuss. 

 

“Two more visits and I’ll let them stay with you over night,” he said gently. “If you want, of course.”

 

Missy nodded eagerly, having warmed up to the idea of living company in the long, solitary hours. 

 

“You can’t hurt them though. These aren’t like Yana, they feel pain.”

 

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Missy hissed. “I know they’re real, living beings and I know they feel pain. 

 

The Doctor bowed his head- she might know in scientific theory that they had the capacity to feel pain but he questioned her emotional intelligence. Piling his load on the table he looked around the vault one last time, checking he’d collected everything up. 

 

He’s about to leave when Missy asks a question that takes him by surprise.

 

“Are they boys or girls?”

 

Gender meant very little to Time Lords… Very little until it came to reproduction. 

 

“I mean I assume you checked they weren’t mixed sex. You know they breed quicker than humans?” 

 

The Doctor stopped and nodded, wondering how she knew so much about guinea pigs. 

 

“I know that. The pet shop wouldn’t sell mixed pairs anyway. I think they’re boys.” 

 

“Boys,” she repeated with a nod. “They’re babies?”

 

“Yes, about a week old,” the Doctor chose his words carefully, watching Missy set her jaw. 

 

Babies were a sore point with her, they always had been, but were more so when she was female. 

 

Gender was important to Time Lords sometimes. 

 

“A week old,” Missy echoed. 

 

They’d managed several decades in the Vault without this discussion and she wasn’t going to let them bring up ancient history now. 

 

“Are you going to come back down to see me again tonight?” She asked, back turned as she tried to reign in her emotions. 

 

“I wasn’t going to but I’ll come down for some tea if you want me to?” 

 

He could see Missy needed him but wanted her to ask. They had made enough progress that she could do that. 

 

“Yes, please.” 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

As soon as he’d settled the guinea pigs and left them under the watchful eyes of Nardole, the Doctor headed back down to the vault. All the way back down, he cursed himself for being so careless. Learning their age must have been like a dagger to Missy’s hearts. Entering the vault, he finds Missy sat at the table, tea spread out in front of her. 

 

“There’s a cup already poured for you pet,” she murmured in a Geordie accent.

 

Fake accents were never a good sign. The Doctor sat down and accepted the lukewarm tea with a smile. 

 

“Ta love,” he played along and gained a small smile from Missy. 

 

“I’m sorry. I’m being oversensitive,” she admitted.

 

“I’d rather you accept your emotions, Missy. This is good.”

 

Missy scoffed, went to laugh but ended up sobbing. The Doctor stood and pulled her into a hug. He knew why she was crying, this was ancient history. If she couldn’t open up to him about what had happened before she entered the vault, at least he could help her work through some old wounds. Missy didn’t fight his embrace, sinking into it. Her sobs were coming in waves and he felt her choking on air. It was like no time had passed since that day nearly two thousand years ago. When the sobs crept closer towards hysteria, the Doctor rubbed firm circles in her back and whispered quiet, firm orders. 

 

“Enough now. Shh, shh. I need you to calm down.”

 

She did as he told her almost immediately and the Doctor tried not to think about how it wasn’t just the guinea pigs he’d managed to domesticate. He was stirred from his thoughts as Missy looked up at him with teary eyes. 

 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

 

“Missy, don’t apologise. Let’s talk about this.”

 

Missy shook her head, sat back down and sipped her tea. The shutters were back down. 

 

The Doctor re-joined her at the table and watched her carefully. 

 

“Okay,” he said after some time in silence. “Okay. I’ll ask you some questions and you can answer if you feel up to that?” 

 

Missy nodded, not looking up. 

 

“Have you been thinking about her while you’ve been in the vault?” 

 

Missy nodded. Dug her nails into the wooden table. 

 

“A lot?”

 

Missy shook her head. She opened her mouth a few times and the Doctor waited patiently as she tried to find the words. 

 

“I have more time to think about her now. There’s no distractions.” 

 

The Doctor nodded. 

 

“It might help you to think about her more. How about I share a memory I have of her?” 

 

“No,” Missy hissed. “She was less than a week old, how can you have memories of her?”

 

It was bitter jealousy. He had more time with her daughter because her stupid body had given out on her and forced her into a healing coma. She wished they’d let her die too. 

 

“Okay, okay” he whispered. “Is this the first time you’ve been female since?” 

 

The Doctor was sure it was- he’d met most of her forms- but he had to check. Missy nodded and wiped at tears. There must be reminders every day of the child she carried and birthed and held in her arms. The daughter that lived five days and died on the eve of the sixth. The daughter that nearly killed her. 

 

“Gender doesn’t matter. I’d miss her whatever I was.” 

 

“Of-course you would.” 

 

“Those guinea pigs are older than my baby was. It’s not fair.” 

 

“Life isn’t fair, Missy.”

 

She knew that better than most. 

 

“Can you bring the guinea pigs back down here for the night?” 

 

He nodded.


	10. If I'm a dreamer, you're one too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea was suggested to me by Madam Violet and without their wonderful prompt, I never would have come up with something like this. I hope I've done your prompt credit! It's angsty and I'm planning on having a few fluffy chapters after this to cleanse the soul. Hope you all enjoy and comments make my day. Thanks everyone for the continued support.

Gallifreyan winters were short, lasting no more than three weeks. Despite their brevity, they had a big impact with snow storms and below zero temperatures taking place across the planet. A Gallifreyan winter, at its peak, put to shame all the universe’s great ice ages. A winter wonderland- some would call it- but the arctic marvel posed a threat to some on the planet. In the Capitol, winter brought nothing more than mild inconvenience to the Time Lords (and Time Lords in training). They’d swap their robes for thicker, winter ones and fling an extra blanket or two into the dormitories of the first and second year students at the Academy. The Capitol’s central weather controls took care of the rest, ensuring that no Gallifreyan of the highest social class suffered from something so primal as the weather. 

 

Out in the villages, it was another matter entirely. 

 

Crops were destroyed by frost, large hailstones destroyed property and the subsequent poor conditions eventually took lives. By the third day of the winter in question, around three hundred shabogans had perished in the harsh conditions. The death toll was set to rise, yet very few in the Capitol were outraged. For them, the winter was little more than a discomfort. An inconvenience that would pass soon enough and give way to a mild, even briefer spring before the unforgiving summer kicked in once more. 

 

In a third-floor dormitory of the Academy, there was one young Time Lord that cared. The floppy haired twenty-year old Theta- on the cusp of adolescence- was a bundle of outrage and anger as he paced the length of Koschei’s room and back again. 

 

“You’re going to burn a hole in my floor,” Koschei stated. 

 

The young Time Lord’s prim accent seemed to ignite Theta’s anger and he continued his pacing double time. The cutting accent of his best friend as he spoke in the highest form of ancient Gallifreyan was a reminder of all that angered him. The class imbalance, the outrageous wealth of the few and the poverty of the many. In a moment of fury, he knocked the lamp from Koschei’s desk. It didn’t break but did bounce loud enough to risk drawing the attention of a passing professor. Neither Theta nor Koschei could handle another week in solitary confinement. 

 

Both boys stilled for a few second, not daring to breath. When an adequate amount of time had passed to reassure that the risk- for now- was gone, Koschei pushed himself up to a sitting position on the bed. He was typical of his class- ill-equipped to deal with the cold. All that was visible of him was a swath of dark hair and piercing blue eyes.

 

Theta gulped as the icy hues settled on him. 

 

“Seriously. stop it. I’m already on a warning about the hole I put in my door. I don’t fancy another one because you’re having a strop.” 

 

“I’m not having a strop,” Theta huffed. His breath blew the floppy blond strands from his face and his cheeks coloured red in anger. “I’m angry and you should be too.” 

 

Koschei rolled his eyes, flopped back against his bed and let out an exaggerated sigh. 

 

“I’ve told you before, you don’t get to tell me how to think. Have your morals and your beliefs, Theta, that’s fine, but you can’t force them on me. Now either calm down and talk to me about what’s bothering you, or piss off and annoy someone else. I’m rather busy, you know.” 

 

Theta scoffed, scrunched up the newspaper article on the shabogan deaths written by one of the underground organisations he’d dallied with and shoved it in his satchel. Koschei was never going to understand his outrage so he pushed it to the back of his mind, promising himself he’d sneak out of the Academy first thing in the morning with food parcels and blankets. 

 

“You’re not busy,” he said edging onto the bed and wedging himself between the wall and Koschei. “You’re just lounging there like a cat.”

 

Koschei tutted and rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time that evening. “Again with human references. You know, right now in the moment we’re living in this Sol 3 you obsess over doesn’t even exist yet. I think you’re going to be mightily disappointed when you finally get there. Anyway, does Borusa know you’ve been sneaking into the viewing room during your free study time?” 

 

Theta shook his head and smiled at his friend’s expression. It was a mixture of mock disappointment and anger that he hadn’t thought of it first. 

 

“You can come with me next time. It has images and data on all the planets, not just earth. We can use it to plan where we’re going to go first when we graduate.” 

 

Koschei nodded and in a move, that was uncharacteristically tender, swept Theta’s fringe aside gently and pecked his forehead. Theta blushed a beautiful shade of pink and Koschei shot him a toothy, knowing grin. He loved making Theta squirm. 

 

“Anyway,” Theta coughed. “What are you so busy doing?” 

 

“Imagining,” Koschei answered calmly. 

 

For the first time that evening, Theta noticed the somewhat vacant expression on Koschei’s face. It was a look that signalled his friend was only half in the room with him. The features, knitted together in concentration and glassy eyes were a giveaway that Koschei was really in an altogether different universe. ‘Imagining,’ was the loosest description of what the young Time Lord was doing and there isn’t really a cultural translation outside of Gallifrey for his pastime. The closest comparison would be a child, playing make believe and creating stories in their mind. ‘Imagining’, to a Gallifreyan like Koschei, was so much more. The Time Lord created vivid worlds and existences that played through his mind like a movie reel. With his naturally strong mental abilities, Koschei re-created sounds, smells and visuals to go along with whatever world he’d created. Sometimes, he took the starring role in his worlds, going on daring adventures with characters he’d created and other times he pretended to be someone else entirely. 

“Imagining?” Theta gasped, propping himself up on his elbow and observing his friend. “You still do that? You’ll get in trouble, Kos.”

 

“Shh,” Koschei ordered, placing his hand on Theta’s shoulder and guiding him to lay down. 

 

Theta nibbled on his bottom lip. 

 

“Can…Can you show me?” 

 

“Sure, sure” Koschei mumbled. He shuffled around under the covers, adjusting the pair so he was laying on top of Theta; sharing his warmth and listening to the grounding sound of his heartbeats. Trailing his hands to either side of Theta’s head, he hummed and projected the world inside his mind. 

 

In an instant, the two boys were no longer in Koschei’s dormitory but instead the console room of a Tardis. Koschei stood at the controls while Theta looked around in awe. 

 

“Where are we going?” Theta asked, completely caught up in the daydream. 

 

“Wherever you want,” Koschei responded, pressing a few buttons for show. 

 

Theta beamed, stilling as he caught sight of something over his shoulder. It was an adult Time Lord, he could sense it and a very old one at that. This Time Lord was much older than any of his professors. Maybe one of the senior Academy staff had been doing surprise rounds and happened upon them bundled up in Koschei’s bed, now projecting themselves into the imagined world to let them know they’d been caught. That would mean big trouble for him and Koschei. Blinking, Theta met the ancient eyes of the Time Lord standing in the shadows of the Tardis. There was something familiar about the blue eyes that met his and didn’t waver. They looked kind but sad and capable of things young Theta couldn’t imagine. 

 

“Kos…Kos who’s that Time Lady,” he nodded in a hurried whisper. “Have one of the elder professors come in your room?” 

 

Koschei looked over his shoulder, smiled fondly at the Time Lady and turned back to Theta. 

 

“That’s me, silly” he said pulling the lever. “That’s one of my faces from the future. She’s really far in the future and really far away.”

 

“She’s you? But Koschei…She’s…” Theta couldn’t finish that sentence because he didn’t know how. She was what? Old…Very old and much older than it was natural for even a Time Lord to become. She also felt dangerous. “How is she here?” 

 

“This is my mind,” Koschei shrugged. “Her mind too. I guess she still imagines. I see her more and more these days. I think today, she’s imagining this scene and it’s why it’s so vivid.”

 

Theta furrowed his brows and went to talk but before he could he was interrupted by the Time Lady behind him. 

 

“No,” she hissed. It was in Gallifreyan but her voice had an odd twang to it that neither boy recognised. “No, it doesn’t work if you know you’re being imagined.”

 

Her voice sounded angry and familiar all at once. Theta dared to look up at her eyes and as their gazes met, he was overwhelmed with a sense of familiarity and fear. This was his friend, he knew that much, but what had she become? A sick feeling that was all too real even in the imagined world grew in the pit of his stomach. 

 

“We should go,” he said quickly and reached for Koschei’s hand. “Come on, just wake up and we’ll do something else…Something real. Koschei, I don’t think you should do this anymore.”

 

Koschei shook his head and laughed. 

 

“What’s wrong with you Theta? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

 

Theta went to answer but again was cut off by shouting. This time it was a male voice, speaking Gallifreyan with that same, odd twang. 

 

“Missy! For fuck’s sake, Missy!” The unfamiliar yet familiar voice shouted. “Missy! Stop it. I’ve told you about this.”

 

Theta looked around at Koschei, startled while the other Time Lord seemed to let it wash over him- apparently used to this happening. 

 

“Who’s that?” Theta asked, trying to place the voice that was floating around the console room. It didn’t belong to any of the three (or was that two?) Time Lords in the imagined world. 

 

“That’s you,” Koschei shrugged. “You don’t like me imagining in the future either.” 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

The Doctor shook Missy’s shoulders vigorously, gripping them tight enough to leave bruises on her pale skin. He felt bad about it but knew that physical grounding was the only way to bring her around when she delved that far into her own mind. They’d been eating dinner together while listening to Classic FM on the radio that the Doctor had brought down temporarily. After a long day of lectures and faculty meetings, the Doctor was so tired that he’d found himself lost in the smooth music and lasagne dish he was eating. He’d become so relaxed that he’d failed to notice Missy wasn’t just relaxing. As the chimes of Big Ben rang out from the radio signalling the start of the ten o’clock news, the Doctor noticed Missy’s still full plate and glassy eyes. She had her dreaming face on. 

 

“Missy! For fuck’s sake, Missy!” His Glaswegian burr seeped into every word and made the words meld together. “Missy! Stop it. I’ve told you about this.”

 

Missy gasped, blinked frantically and became a heavy weight in his arms. The Doctor held her as she readjusted to the real world, stroking her hair and providing as much physical stimulus as possible to help her come to. 

 

“You made them leave!” Missy shouted eventually, glaring at the Doctor accusingly. “They were us and we were going to go on a trip. Escape the Gallifreyan winter.” 

 

“That didn’t happen, Missy. You need to stop doing that. Please, I don’t want you becoming delusional again.”

 

He remembered her last body well, ravaged by the drums and often unable to tell the difference between reality and fantasy. Despite it being thousands of years ago, he remembered her last female form even better. He remembered how that incarnation had spent more time in her imagined world, with her daughter alive and well, than the real world. She’d lived out that regeneration in a secure hospital on Gallifrey. Ever since putting her in the vault, he’d been waiting for her to use her ability of ‘imagining’ to escape. It surprised him she’d taken close to six decades to seek comfort through her make-believe universes. The last few months, however, she seemed to have remembered her ability and spent the long, solitary hours in her mind. 

 

“It did happen,” Missy retorted, piercing her fork through the lasagne. “It was that bad winter when all those shabogans died and you came to my room to mope about it. The day before we handed in our essays on the ethics of time travel.” 

 

“Okay,” the Doctor conceded. He let go of her shoulders now he was sure that she was firmly back in reality. “That did happen but there was no adventure Missy.”

 

“You came into my bed and you asked me to show you my imagining. I did and we had a Tardis and you were about to choose where to go,” Missy listed as though it had happened just yesterday. 

 

“No, no Missy that’s not what happened at all,” the Doctor said firmly. “I came into your bed and you asked to show me your imagining. I said no because it’d get you into trouble and you used to end up in such a strange mood when the imaginings ended. You still do, Missy.” 

 

Missy stared into the middle distance. She’d look angry if she had the concentration left for it. 

 

“Look at you, Missy, it’s drained you. Come on, you can’t do this. We’re not children and it’s not right for you to lose your grip on reality. I know it’s hard in here sometimes--” 

 

“You know nothing”

 

“Don’t be like this, how about a game? We haven’t played snakes and ladders in a while.”

 

“Fine. Fine.” 

 

XXXXXXXX 

 

“I have an excursion booked with the second years,” the Doctor declared one evening after dinner. “It’s a residential excursion to the Lake District. I’ll be gone three days.”

 

For a while, Missy didn’t say anything and scraped her fork along the nearly empty plate- pushing scraps of broccoli around. She’d never liked broccoli and didn’t know why the Doctor insisted on putting it on her plate every meal. Placing the plastic knife and fork down, she reaches for her diet coke and takes a long sip. He might be gone three days, she thought to herself as she reached back into her mind for the worlds she’d created last time he had to go away. The worlds she’d promised him two months ago that she’d stopped visiting. 

 

There was purple mountain.

 

A family of gold miners that she’d befriended. (They were mining illegally, of course, and she was harbouring them. She got a hefty slice of their profits in return.) 

 

And her own patch of soil that she’d used for gardening. The lilac and yellow pansies were her favourites. 

 

“Did you hear me?” The Doctor asked once he thought an acceptable amount of time had passed. “I’ve tried to get out of it but the faculty have said it’s my turn. I can try and feign illness or say my mother has had a fall or something.”

 

Missy looked up, blinked a few times and shook the vivid imagery that was already forming in her mind. She considered the Doctor in full detail. He was anxious, nibbling away at his bottom lip. Anxious about what? Leaving her probably. It would only be three days; did he really think her unable to survive 72 little hours on her own? There was something else in his expression- a glimmer of hope that twinkled in his eyes. He was excited at the prospect of a mini break with young humans in the Lake District. How tragic! The man that lived in the stars and travelled time was yearning for a trip to some mediocre group of mounds and puddles. 

 

Now, what had she called the family’s dog? Chester? Charlie? 

 

“Missy,” the Doctor said. “I’m talking to you. Three days, that’s all. Nardole will be down regularly and I’ve bought you some extra books.” 

 

He nodded in the direction of the brown paper bag filled with new reads. Missy followed his eyes and absently reached for the leftover broccoli. Picking up two pieces, she brought them down to her lap and offered them up to the two guinea pigs bundled in her skirt. They nibbled at the vegetable, nuzzling against Missy’s palm in search of more once it had been finished. She tried to retrace the Doctor’s words, latch onto something he had said.

 

“I’m not your mother,” she said eventually. “And your mother had superb balance- she’d never fall.” 

 

The Doctor paused and wondered what she’s talking about for a second. 

 

“What?” He asks, realisation dawning. “No, no it would just be an excuse. Humans- well all the middle-aged humans in my department are at the age where their parents are getting old and frail. They’d believe me if I said…” he trailed off when he noticed Missy’s lost interest. 

He worried briefly over her dream-like state, it’s as though she’s in her own world. Was she still imagining even though he’d made her promise otherwise? He was the one person in the universe that knew Missy the best, yet even he couldn’t tell what went on behind her eyes sometimes. 

 

“Do you want me to stay?” He asks reluctantly. He’d made the vow to guard the vault, that meant he’d find a way to stay. 

 

“No. I’ll be fine. I might quite like a break from you, dear” she says breezily. 

 

“I won’t be leaving the guinea pigs in here for three days. I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

 

Missy shrugged and tried not to show her hurt. 

 

“Whatever. Will you bring me back a stick of rock?”

 

“I’m going to the Lake District, not the beach” the Doctor explained tiredly. 

 

“Then bring me back…I don’t know… a rock. A regular rock. Something to show me you were thinking about me.” 

 

The Doctor thinks of a series of arguments he could pick in response. Chooses none of them and instead nodded at her request. 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

The Doctor had been gone three hours and had left Nardole with a list of strict instructions. The Cyborg was on his way down to the vault with breakfast and the Doctor’s firm warnings loomed heavily in the back of his mind. Clumsily, he jabbed the security code into the vault doors and stood back as they rumbled open. 

 

“Um, Miss?” Nardole shouted out quietly once the Vault doors are securely bolted shut behind him. 

 

There’s no sign of the vault’s occupant but he caught sight of a messy bundle on the bed in the far-right corner. A messy bundle with four scrawny limbs and a mass of dark curls. Nardole placed the tray down on the table, set the soft-boiled eggs and soldiers down next to a jug of juice. Missy made no sign of acknowledgement but that’s nothing new. Neither’s the mumbling he can hear. She often spoke to herself. 

 

“Not dressed yet?” He commented when she eventually retracts herself from the sheets and padded across the tiled flooring wearing only a vest top and cotton shorts. “That’s alright you can have a duvet day.”

 

Nardole stilled as Missy’s head shot around and her eyes locked onto him. She looked at him like he was prey. He swallowed, wished he didn’t ramble so much. His mouth always ran away with him, it was bound to get him killed one day. 

 

“No,” Missy grinned. She threw her head back and laughed. At what, Nardole wasn’t sure. “He’s not acquainted with Jupiter’s etiquette, it’s not his fault.” 

 

Nardole blinked, shook himself. 

 

“I’ll have you know I am too acquainted with Jupiter’s etiquette,” he mumbled offendedly. He was quite used to Time Lords speaking to themselves. “Anyway, I’ll be back down in a few hours with lunch and to get on with some cleaning.” 

 

As he left the vault, he heard Missy mumbling away to herself with an increased urgency. He briefly wondered if he should put a stop to it but she seemed happy and she was eating her breakfast. 

 

That was task one on the Doctor’s list done.

 

XXXXXXXX 

 

Three days passed with little event. Nardole pottered around the vault, bringing regular meals and just checking in on Missy from time to time. That afternoon, the day the Doctor was due to return, Nardole had taken the guinea pigs down for a visit. Missy had shown little interest, surprising the Cyborg. Instead she’d stayed in the corner of her living quarters, sometimes talking to herself but mainly just staring straight ahead. It didn’t bother Nardole, in fact it made the time without the Doctor pass smoothly and that suited him just fine.

 

He was just considering pouring himself another cup of tea when the Doctor traipsed into the office. The Time Lord rid himself of the heavy backpack and sat down in the armchair with a sigh. The fresh air had added extra curls to his grey mane and he was donning a soppy grin. 

 

“The adventurer returns,” Nardole said. “Good trip?” 

 

“Brilliant. We were in a set of cabins by Windermere and while the humans slept, I went exploring. Met a lovely old couple that ran the local B and B,” he enthused and took the cup of tea with a grateful smile. “I bought you some fudge.”

 

“Ooh,” Nardole beamed, admiring the box of treats. “Thank you. I’ll save them for my mid-morning tea tomorrow.” 

 

“I’ll have this tea and then I’ll go down and see Missy,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “Take it everything’s been okay?” 

 

“Yes,” Nardole nodded. “She’s mainly been ignoring me, but that’s nothing new. I think she’ll be pleased to see you.”

 

The Doctor nodded, finished his tea and headed down to the vault. 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

The vault was dark when the Doctor entered and Missy seemed to be asleep on her bed. He frowned, looking at his watch that confirmed it was only just gone 8pm. Still, she had no way of knowing what time it was and her sleeping was normally so bad, he wasn’t about to discourage her. Creeping into the vault, he slipped off his trainers and placed the bags down as quietly as possible. She’d be annoyed if she missed his visit, he reasoned, so decided to join her on the bed and wait until she woke up. Sinking onto the mattress, he crawled under the covers and wrapped an arm around her waist. 

 

Missy stilled. He cursed himself for waking her up and held his breath as she turned around and faced him with wide eyes. 

 

Then he caught sight of her eyes and realised she hadn’t been sleeping at all. 

 

“Missy,” he sighed, reaching over and clicking on the bedside lamp. She flinched and blinked at the light. Had she been in her own world for three days straight? “Missy, come on now” he said as he hauled her up to a sitting position. 

 

He stroked her hair and drew circles in her arms as she came to and readjusted to the physical world. Her limbs were like jelly and he held her firm for the full twenty minutes it took for her to come around fully. The Doctor was angry, of course he was, Missy had promised him she wouldn’t do this, but if she’d been in one of her imaginings for three days he had to wake her gently. It was like dealing with a sleepwalker. 

 

On the twenty-first minute of stroking and talking and just generally grounding her, the Doctor heard the telling gasp fall from her lips. Her hand clutched his shirt and she blinked up at him vacantly. 

 

“Doctor, you’re back” she croaked. Her voice was hoarse from not being used. “Why are you back so soon?”

 

“It’s been three days, Missy.”

 

“I’ve been busy. I lost track of time. I had dinner with the Duke of Edinburgh, he does make me laugh.”

 

It was almost sweet that that’s what she’d imagined. Almost. The Doctor set his face on a stern expression. 

 

“No, you didn’t, Missy. You’ve been in the Vault.” 

 

Missy glared back at him, annoyed. Why couldn’t he let her have this? How else was she supposed to amuse herself?

 

“I asked you to stop doing this. I get it, you need an escape from reality but you rely on it too much, Missy. It took me a long time to get you back this time.” 

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

She didn’t mean it. 

 

“I promise I won’t do it again.”

 

She didn’t mean that either. 

 

“Did you bring me any presents?” 

 

The Doctor nodded. 

 

“Get out of bed and we’ll look through them together.” 

 

Missy did, the Doctor showed her the presents. 

 

He called in sick the next day, the day after that and the day after that. He spent five days in total filling Missy’s waking moments with as much reality as possible. 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

“She’s not hurting anyone,” Nardole commented as triple checked his cleaning basket. “I don’t see why you can’t let her have it as an escape.” 

 

“It’s not up for argument, Nardole,” the Doctor said gruffly. “If you hear her talking to herself or see her just…just kind of staring into space, you need to put a stop to it. I’m managing to wean her off her dependency on imagining but you undermine me completely if you let her get away with it.” 

 

Nardole laughed, he couldn’t help himself. Imagining, as the Doctor called it, sounded so innocent and quite fun. Yet, the Doctor acted like it was a heroin addiction. 

 

“It’s not funny,” the Time Lord barked. “I’m serious. You need to stop her when you see it.” 

 

Nardole waved dismissively and continued with his daily duties. 

 

XXXXXXXX 

 

“Right, that’s that then Missy,” Nardole said, unplugging the vacuum cleaner and wheeling it to the door. 

 

Missy had been quiet during his visit, but didn’t appear in a trance or talking to herself. She’d uttered a few odd ramblings but Nardole rather liked being in one piece so didn’t fancy interrupting her too often. It was only sporadic, anyway, so he didn’t see any point in overreacting like the Doctor did. 

 

“Yes,” Missy replied. “Yes, I was in a war too. Is that how you lost your arm?” 

 

Despite himself, Nardole looked down and found two, firmly attached arms. He looked back up at Missy and hovered in the doorway. He could interrupt her- like the Doctor had said- but then he worried he would no longer have two working arms. He could leave- but then the Doctor might come down and find her immersed deeper into her fantasy. Glancing over into the kitchen area, he decided that the worktops could do with another clean. 

 

“Oh no,” Missy said, now deep in conversation as Nardole gave the oven it’s third clean. “That scar was from a time chamber not the war. I wasn’t in this body during the war. I don’t know why they had a time chamber away from Gallifrey, but they did.” 

 

Nardole froze. He looked up to see Missy rolling down her sock and revealing a tiny, hole shaped scar on the heel of her foot. He’d only heard of time chambers when River was writing about torture practices from Gallifrey’s Dark Age. Gulping, he took a few steps towards Missy and sat carefully on the foot stool in front of her. 

 

“A time chamber?” He asked quietly, subtly examining the scarring on the bottom of her foot. It matched perfectly the pictures in River’s text book.

 

“Yes, they matched up my time streams after taking DNA and bloods. They would recreate my pasts and presents and futures perfectly but distort it just so. That was one of the things they did,” she blinked vacantly. “Were you in Jupiter’s Great War?” 

 

Nardole swallowed, wondered if her should wake her but realised this was more than she’d said about her time with the executioners than ever before. He should call the Doctor, that’s what he should do. He wondered why she was so obsessed with Jupiter recently but then caught sight of dusty encyclopaedia on Jupiter’s Wars, hovering discarded on the arm of her chair. 

 

“I…Yes, I was,” Nardole said because it was the easiest thing to do. “Who were the people that used the time chamber?”

 

Missy made on odd noise. It sounded like a stifled sob, but her face remained rigid and vacant and gave no sign of distress. 

 

“It was the people that were holding me for execution. I had to wait a long time for my friend to come and they found lots of uses for me. Time Lords are rare. If you can hold one long enough to test weaponry and torture tactics against, it’ll strengthen your people.” 

 

Nardole frowned, knew he should call the Doctor now. 

 

“Your friend’s the Doctor?” 

 

“Yes!” Missy exclaimed. “Drink your tea, it’s getting cold.”

 

He made a show of drinking his pretend cup of tea and wondered just who she thought he was- she’d never spoken to him this nicely. 

 

“Mhmm. Lovely, it’s a just how I like it,” he said in an overdramatic stage voice. He sounded like he was at a little girl’s tea party.

 

“I haven’t seen the Doctor in ever so long,” Missy said. 

 

She’d seen him that morning. 

 

“Would you like me to get him? He can come and have tea with us.”

 

“He can… On Jupiter… Isn’t he too busy on earth?” 

 

“He’ll always make time for you, I’m sure of it.”

 

Nardole thought he saw a flicker of a smile Missy’s face as he stood up and pulled out the emergency phone the Doctor had given him. 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

The oven had been cleaned for a fifth time when the Doctor finally made it into the vault. Nardole stood by the kitchen counter, reading an old guide on contagious illnesses. The Time Lord looked at the Cyborg questioningly and then at Missy’s back as she sat on the sofa. Nardole thanked his luck that the Time Lady had chosen now to be less vocal in her imagining, it prevented the Doctor from jumping the gun straight away. 

 

“What’s this about?” He asked, eyebrows raised. He read the book title and sighed. “I’ve told you before- she never had chicken pox as a child but she can’t catch it either. And neither can you. She’s probably itching to freak you out.” 

 

The Doctor laughed, turning to see if Missy was watching them with a knowing smirk as he predicted she would be. She was still turned away and he went to step forward as he heard her mumbling under her breath. 

 

“It’s not that,” Nardole said urgently tugging the Time Lord back by his sleeve. “I was just reading for fun while I waited for you.” 

 

Missy, sensing the dispute, increased the speed and volume of her rambling. The Doctor turned back, expression tightened in frustration. 

 

“I told you about this. I told you to stop it—”

 

“I know, I know” Nardole sighed hands raised in defence “but please, jut hear me out.” 

 

The Doctor softened slightly, motioning for Nardole to continue. 

 

“Have you heard of a time chamber?” He asked, tapping some buttons on a device attached to his belt. 

 

He nodded, confusion etched on his face. 

 

“Only in history class. It was ancient history even when Missy and I were at the Academy. It’s barbaric, distorting one’s sense of reality by changing time lines and possible outcomes.”

 

Nardole nodded, “that’s what I thought it was. Look,” he held a camera up to the Doctor and replayed a recording of his and Missy’s conversation. 

 

The Doctor ground his teeth, clearly uncomfortable hearing Missy’s confessions. He looked over to Missy who was now deep in conversation with Rassilon knew who. 

 

“How did you get her to open up like that?” 

 

“I’ll show you,” he said and walked back over to the foot stool.

 

Missy didn’t acknowledge them and so Nardole coughed slightly. The Doctor worried at the sight of Missy’s vacant expression. He went to rouse her from the trance, only to be pushed back by the Cyborg. 

 

“That tea was lovely, miss” Nardole said in that same overdramatic voice. “Could I have another one please?” 

 

The Doctor baulked at him and went to ask what he was playing at when Missy spoke. 

 

“Of-course sweetheart,” Missy responded, pausing. The Doctor looked between his two friends and wondered which rabbit hole he’d fallen down today. “There you go.” 

 

“Thank you. Mhmm lovely,” he praised. The Doctor frowned. “Oh look, the Doctor’s here.”

 

“He is?” 

 

Nardole nudged the Doctor and encouraged him to speak. 

 

“Yes, yes Missy hello” the Doctor said, unconvinced with this charade. 

 

“Doctor, you came to Jupiter?”

 

The Doctor swallowed and gritted his teeth. 

 

“Yes,” he said after a while. “I…Missy...Nardole said you were talking about a time chamber.” 

 

Nardole sighed at the Doctor’s impatience. 

 

“Nardole?” Missy questioned. “No, no. You mean Tabitha. The little girl with one arm.”

 

The Doctor looked at Nardole and they both exchanged confused glances when Missy started speaking again. This time she was whispering. 

 

“Doctor, the war’s still fresh in minds here. Tabitha lives in the orphanage with some other children. She gets into a lot of trouble. She’s a bit of a hell raiser but she doesn’t have any friends, I come and have tea with her from time to time.”

 

“Okay,” he replied thinking over his next words. “Tabitha told me you were talking about a time chamber. It worried her because time chambers are nasty business.”

 

“I didn’t mean to scare her,” Missy said instantly. 

 

“You didn’t scare her. She’s worried about you because you’re her friend and she said somebody used a time chamber against you. Is that right Missy?” 

 

Missy nodded and the Doctor feared he saw tears in her eyes. He was fearful of distressing her too much when she was lost in her mind. 

 

“They…They put a tube in my foot and it was linked up to me all the time. It was the executioners on that planet, do you know the one I mean?”

 

“Yes, Missy. Do you know why they did that?”

 

“Because they could,” Missy said simply. “Doctor…Doctor, Jupiter is falling away.”

 

The Doctor’s brow creased and he realised her imagining was fading away. He had no idea how long she’d been in her mind and with the added external stimulus, even her with her mental capacity, the imagined world could only last a certain amount of time. He lunged forward and held onto her arms as she came back to herself. 

 

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you” he said calmly. He pressed his lips to her forehead and waited for her to come around. Nardole made the smart decision to scarper, figuring Missy wouldn’t be as pleased to see him in reality as she was to see Tabitha in her fantasies. 

 

Missy blinked and looked up at him. 

 

“Doctor, it’s…Is it dinner time already?”

 

“Yes. Yes, we’re going to have spaghetti bolognaise.” 

 

He hadn’t learned anything that Nardole hadn’t told him, but this was more than she’d told him so far.

 

XXXXXXXX

 

Two days later, Missy and the Doctor are spending the evening together. 

 

The Doctor is reading a student essay while Missy happily tends to the guinea pigs. Neither had spoken about their discussion- with the Doctor trying to think of a way to broach the subject and Missy unaware of what she had said. 

 

“Do you remember our lessons on time chambers?” The Doctor says eventually, placing the essay down and walking to join Missy by the pen. 

 

“Yes,” Missy said. If she was affected by the question, it didn’t show. “Why?”

 

The Doctor shrugged, caught sight of her free hand clenching around the metal wiring of the pen and decided to leave the topic for today. From where she was sat, resting on her knees, the scarring on her heel was visible. The Doctor forced himself to look away. 

 

“I was just remembering our history lessons at the Academy. We used to enjoy history classes- it was like story time based in truth.”

 

“Yes,” Missy commented and reached for another carrot, holding it out for the guinea pigs. 

 

“Missy,” the Doctor asked again. She turned and looked at him tiredly. “How did you get those marks on your foot?” 

 

Missy’s eyes widened and an expression that told him she knew what he knew crossed her features. She wasn’t about to talk about it though. 

 

“I cut it on a broken mug,” she said. 

 

“Okay.” For now, they could leave it. “Have you thought about any names for the guinea pigs yet?”

 

“I like the name Tabitha,” she commented. “Tabitha can be the tawny one, it doesn’t matter that they’re both boys. You can think of the other one’s name, but it can’t be stupid.”

 

The Doctor laughed. 

 

“I’ll have to have a think,” he hummed. “Tea?”

 

“That’s a stupid name,” Missy frowned. 

 

“No, would you like a cup of tea?” 

 

“Oh,” Missy laughed and scooped up Tabitha. “Yes please. And Doctor?”

 

“Hmm?” He asked, turning as he reached the kitchen. “I’ll talk about it soon. I promise.”

 

“You’ll talk about it when you want to.” 

 

Missy nodded, the Doctor boiled the kettle and the guinea pigs dig into a stick of celery.


	11. Cha Cha Cakes

“I need new hairbands.” 

 

The Doctor looked over from where he was crouched in the kitchen, placing the tray of fairy cakes carefully in the oven. His eyes met Missy just in time to catch her pulling her hair back into a loose ponytail, wiping her flour covered hands over her red-polka dot apron. The Doctor tutted, rolling his eyes at the white hand prints that trailed down her front. 

 

"You could just wash your hands,” he laughed. “I’ll pick up some hairbands tomorrow.”

 

Missy smiled and poked her tongue out at him in jest. 

 

“It’s my aesthetic. I’m going for housewife chic,” she twirled and curtsied. “It is the fifties, isn’t it?” 

 

“I’m still not telling you when we are,” the Doctor frowned. “But it’s later than the fifties.”

 

Her attempts were getting more original, at least. It concerned him slightly that she seemed to have forgotten vast swaths of time. It had been the late sixties when he cut off her sense of the outside world completely. 

 

“Ah careful Doc,” Missy teased with twinkling eyes. “Give me too much information and I’ll start to piece things together.” 

 

He was pleased to see her in such a lighthearted mood. It had been months since he had returned from the trip to the Lake District to find her catatonic. While the first few weeks had been difficult, with him often having to coax her into engagement with the real world most days, things eventually improved and Missy stabilised once more. The Doctor still hadn’t told Missy what she’d told him whilst she’d been in one of her imaginings. He’d wanted to- wanted to discuss things with her further but he was also cautious of tipping her over the edge again. It was a fine line and he had to tread it carefully. 

 

As a compromise, they’d fallen into the routine of baking on a Saturday morning (not that she knew it was a Saturday). When they were icing or decorating their freshly baked goods, she had to share one thing that had happened to her between Skaro and the Vault. In turn, he’d share something with her- either about Clara or River or finding Gallifrey again. He was careful with the last one because that had the potential to upset her all over again. 

 

“Have you got the icing ready?” He asks, watching her rock on her heels. 

 

“You need to boil the kettle. Unless you’re going to let me do that”

 

“No. Not yet, Missy. I’ll boil the kettle.”

 

Missy nods, playing with the hem of her apron. 

 

“I think we should add yellow food colouring today. It feels like a yellow kind of day,”

 

“Why is that?” The Doctor asked curiously as he boiled the kettle. 

 

The way Missy saw colours and related them to emotions had always fascinated him. He was jealous of the vastness of her mind. 

 

“I’m feeling good. Happy like the sun or daffodils” she hummed. “I think maybe we don’t have to talk about things like we normally do today.”

 

The kettle whistled and clicked as it boiled. With practised movements, the Doctor poured the boiling water onto the icing sugar watching as the thick powder melted into a smooth mix. 

 

“You can stir. I know you can do that and I know you’re not going to do the washing up,” the Doctor quipped. 

 

Missy shot him a half smile and pulled the mixing bowl back across the table towards her. 

 

“You’re not going to do the washing up either,” Missy snorts and admires the smooth formation of the icing sugar. 

 

“Nardole’s very particular,” the Doctor comments. “He likes doing the washing up before settling down to watch Poirot. Who am I to take away his little pleasures?”

 

“You took away my little pleasures”

 

“I took away your disintegrator”

 

“Same thing.”

 

The Doctor shot her a withering look and decided not to entertain the conversation further. Setting the hen-shaped timer to twenty minutes, he placed it on the worktop and poured the remaining hot water into two mugs. In two steps, he was sat opposite Missy at the table- pushing a striped-mug across to her. Missy continued to stir the icing, humming to herself and peering lazily into the mug. 

 

“I wanted blueberry tea,” she tutted. 

 

“Well you’ve got breakfast tea. Are you being particularly difficult today?”

 

Missy looked up at him, piercing eyes twinkling somewhere between mirth and serious intent. 

 

“Always,” she singsongs. Taking a sip of the tea she didn’t want, she grimaces as the hot liquid burns her throat. The Doctor rolled his eyes and decided learning patience would be on her ‘how to be good curriculum.’ He’d have to learn some first, though. “I don’t want to talk about the bad things today.”

 

“It’s our agreement, Missy. Don’t you feel better, getting things off your chest?”

 

“No,” Missy said childishly. Dipping her finger in the icing, she pulled it out and licked it clean making appreciative, over the top noises. 

 

“You’re rubbish at lying” the Doctor said, pulling the bowl away from her. “We’re talking about things, whether you like it or not.”

 

“We are?” Missy quirked a challenging eyebrow at him. “And just how do you plan on doing that- a truth hallucinogen? They’re very good when administered straight to the veins.” 

 

The Doctor knew her well enough to know when she was feeding him just enough to keep him off her back. 

 

“We spoke about truth hallucinogens two weeks ago,” he said undeterred. “You were going to tell me what hallucinations you had. Let’s talk about that.” 

 

“Mainly the day my daughter was born,” Missy waved her hand dismissively. “In that hospital room in the Citadel and the real doctors, not you, told me I could save her if I answered their questions. I didn’t answer them” she said proudly. 

 

“What questions?”

 

“About the Time Lords, where they could find another one, I can’t remember why they wanted to know that but I didn’t tell them nothing” she grinned smugly. 

 

The Doctor frowned, suddenly realising how the executioners had managed to reach him. 

 

“I see,” the Doctor commented, sipping his tea. “Do you remember how often you were under the effects? Was it just once or?”

 

“No more questions. Can we play the other game?”

 

“Game?”

 

“The one where you try and get me to think about things from your funny little point of view. You know, there’s a plane and three parachutes but four people. Or a burning building. Or ‘the solution to difficult conversations and disagreements is not murder’” 

 

“That’s not a game, Missy. This is serious. Not everything’s a game, that’s something you need to learn.” 

 

“You’re always telling the humans that they need to take life less seriously”

 

“You’re not human. Usually, when I’m telling a human not to take life so seriously it means stressing less about the spreadsheet they haven’t finished and caring more about Sunday afternoon on the beach with the kids.”

 

“Yes, but you’re usually able to offer them practical solutions-like an expansion of linear time- to help alleviate some of those stresses. Anyway, I’ve taken every one of my attempts at universal domination seriously.”

 

The Doctor rolled his eyes, resigning himself to the fact that Missy was choosing to be more difficult than normal today. It felt like he was pulling teeth. A quick glance at the hen-shaped timer and he realised only five minutes had passed. 

 

“I don’t doubt you took them seriously. I was there for most of them, I remember.” 

 

“You weren’t there for half of them,” Missy huffed indignantly. “Stop placing yourself at the centre of my universe. I’ve told you before- I have a life aside from you.”

 

“If I wasn’t there for half of them, you’ve failed a lot more than I thought.”

 

“Nu-uh” Missy sang, stretching out the words out at the same time as stretching her right leg up in the air and reclining back. Her lean body formed the perfect dancer’s line. The Doctor watched, hypnotised as she flexed and unflexed her foot. “I’d make a good dancer in this body. Small enough, flexible enough and I’ve certainly got the stamina. I spent several years with the Ballet Russes in Paris in the early 1900s. Sergei Diaghilev adored me. Apparently, this body is a bit old to be a dancer, so I helped to train the new ones. I trained them for dancing and to send them into the Revolution. Russia at the height of revolution is a sight to behold. So bloody, I’ve never felt so alive as when I’m decapitating a head of one of the bourgeois types. I hopped between Pairs and Moscow dancing between bloody uprisings and glitzy dinners” she recalled wistfully. “C’etait magnifique.”

 

The Doctor blinked at her, gawping and trying to keep up with what she was going on about it. He imagined that only half of it was factual and more an attempt at wasting time before the cakes were baked and their ‘therapy’ session was over. 

 

“You’re rambling like I do when I want to kill the last fifteen minutes of a lecture with the pudding brains. We’ll play the other ‘game’, as you call it, but it’s not a game and to prove it we’re talking directly about something you’ve done. Gods knows we’ve got quite the selection,” he snarled patience reaching its end. 

 

Missy’s leg dropped from where she had extended it into the air. She swivelled in her seat and rested her head in her hand, curious and interested by the reaction she’d gained.

 

“That we do, my dear Doctor,” Missy trilled. Her eyes glanced over at the timer. “We have quite the selection but we’re nearly out of time. Dearie me, there’s always next week.”

 

The Doctor stood and shook his head, walking over to the oven he turns it off and shoves the timer in the cupboard. 

 

“We’re Time Lords, Missy. We control time, not the other way around.”

 

XXXXXXXX

 

After some deliberation over the various options they had, the Doctor had reached a decision over which of Missy’s actions they would discuss. Missy was less than convinced by his choice. 

 

“The day we went to Skaro?” She scoffed, drawing her legs up and hugging her knees. Resting her head atop her knees, she narrowed her eyes and scrutinised him. “You sent me your confession dial and I saved you. I was on my best behaviour that day. Now, if we want to talk about your behaviour that day, I have a few points I’d like to raise.”

 

“Sure,” the Doctor offered. “If you want to talk about what happened after I left you on Skaro, we’ll talk about that.” 

 

“No,” Missy said instantly, losing the upper hand quicker than she would have liked. “So. Skaro day. Tell me what I did that was so wrong when I saved you. Is this the Clara thing again? I’ve told you I don’t like hearing her name in these sessions.”

 

“And I’ve told you, I don’t remember anything to do with Clara. Considering how prickly you get when we even broach the subject, I’m guessing you did something I wouldn’t approve of and that you’d rather I didn’t know. You’d do well to try and keep your mouth in line and we’ll both be somewhere towards happy.”

 

“If it’s not Clara, then what?”

 

“The UNIT officers you killed. Three, by my count, just on a whim. To what? Prove a point?” 

 

“The what?” Missy questioned in genuine confusion. To her, that day had started when she’d seen the Doctor. Anything that had happened before that hadn’t registered with her. After a few seconds of contemplation, something like recognition crossed her features. “Oh baby Lethbridge’s suited men?” 

 

The Doctor nodded.

 

“Why would you kill them?”

 

“They had guns pointed at me. It was self-defence.”

 

“No it wasn’t. They had families, Missy. Lives ahead of them.” 

 

“They had all of fifty years left of life, if they were lucky. When compared to our life spans, it’s not even a fraction. Humans kill spiders all the time, why can’t I kill them?”

 

The Doctor let out an exasperated sigh and headed to get some more coffee. 

 

The debate continued for three hours. 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

Missy flicked through the T.V. set that the Doctor brought in, searching for something that wasn’t going to sour her mood further. The ‘game’ had gone on too long and hadn’t played out as she’d wanted. The Doctor plated up the cakes. 

 

“I mean it Missy,” the Doctor said, continuing an earlier conversation. “We’re going over ethics more. The way you see things…it’s warped.” 

 

Missy turned up the volume and ignored him. The Doctor walked over with the cakes and a consoling mug of blueberry tea. 

 

“Here,” he offered. “I added yellow food colouring to the icing.”

 

“My mood’s not yellow anymore.”

 

“What colour is it now?”

 

“Red. Take a guess what that means,” she side-eyed him and snatched a cake. 

 

The Doctor took his own cake. 

 

“You asked me to help you,” he offered. “Help you understand what it meant to be good. That means we’re going to need to have some difficult discussions.”

 

“You’re ruining cake day.” 

 

“Okay. We’ll talk about this next week then? Before cooking and then we forget about it and focus on cooking.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“If you turn it onto channel one, the one where kind-of-celebrities try to dance is on in five minutes. That goes well with cakes. I’m sure your expert eye will have some critique to offer.”

 

“Oh, I will.”


	12. Wine and Dine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in updating, real life has been busy. Would appreciate any feedback as always. The ending here will lead on to a suggestion by Auroramya, which will hopefully be updated soon! Slight trigger warning for implied non-con.

“Another?” 

 

Missy held up the now half-empty second bottle of Merlot for the Doctor’s consideration. He smiled goofily, nodding and savouring the heady rush as he leaned forward and felt the remnants of his last glass pump around his veins and settle warmly in his stomach. Missy’s lips curled into that knowing smirk she always had when she was pleased with herself. And she was very pleased with herself. The bottle of wine and dinner made specially by the Doctor had been her idea when the Doctor said she deserved a treat. Well, it was her third suggestion after her first and second suggestions of a trip to Jupiter and a visit to the Waterfall of Bones on the eve of the Civil War fell flat. 

 

Apparently, she’d been very good the last few weeks- that was what he kept telling her at least. She had started to use her words, been more open with him and hadn’t hurt him or herself for three weeks and two days. If Missy was being honest- and she was trying very hard to be honest because that was part of being good- she didn’t really understand why the Doctor thought she was being so good. All she’d done was keep to his silly rules, it wasn’t all that hard and the Doctor had such darling little reactions when he was pleased with her. He’d break into a smile that could stop the universe, or reach out and stroke her hair with such care or- and this was her favourite part- he’d tear up and tell her how well she was doing and how much of an honour it was to spend this time with her. For Missy, being good meant drawing out these lovely reactions from the Doctor, it hadn’t really had any impact on her. 

 

Or at least it hadn’t until an odd event a few mornings ago. 

 

Nardole had been in her Vault, being his usual irritating self as he pottered about completing the chores. Somewhere along the line, he had managed to take a fall and twist his ankle. He really was a rubbish robot. Without thinking twice, Missy had sat him down and completed the little first-aid she could with her limited access to supplies. The way Nardole had earnestly thanked her and didn’t flinch away from her when she touched him had filled her with an oddly warm sensation. It was almost like she’d enjoyed the act of being good. 

 

“That’s enough, Missy” The Doctor slurred, drawing her back to the present. “Anyone would think you were trying to get me drunk.” 

 

“Maybe I am.”

 

“Hmm, well I don’t want you getting too drunk. You’re a terrible drunk.” 

 

“I am not.” 

 

“You get angry or you cry or you get frisky.” 

 

“Frisky?” Missy questioned, masking a giggle as she took a sip of her wine. “Is that such a bad thing? You’ve never complained that much in the past. Anyway- anger, tears and getting frisky…That’s every drunk ever.”

 

“Is not,” the Doctor protested. Suddenly he choked on his swig of wine as felt a warm pressure in his lap. Looking down, he reddened nearly as much as the wine they were sharing as he caught sight of her small foot in his lap. She waggled her toes and her smirk grew wider. 

 

“Missy. This isn’t a good idea.”

 

“Boo,” Missy said in a drawn-out sigh, pouting almost comically. “You promised me a treat.”

 

“I bought some cheese soufflés and truffles,” the Doctor offered feeling himself flush crimson as the front of his trousers tightened. He had a feeling that dessert offerings weren’t going to do the trick. 

 

“Please, Doctor” Missy shuffled in her seat as her eyes locked with his across the table. “I’ve been a good girl. We’ve never…you know…in these bodies” 

 

The Doctor coughed awkwardly and finished his wine. Missy licked her lips and in a series of movements he couldn’t keep up with, stood and crossed the distance between them. Suddenly, it was no longer just her foot in his lap as she straddled him. The Doctor shuddered as Missy’s lips found their way to his lips and then his jawline and then started to make their way down his neck. Little shocks of pleasure  
washed over him and he audibly growled as she nipped at the skin on his collarbone. 

 

“I think you want it too, Doctor. Come now, don’t punish yourself. We both deserve a treat.”

 

He wasn’t sure if it was her familiar scent, the lure of her voice or the wine but he found himself nodding. It was probably a combination of all three. 

 

Standing up, he adjusted her legs around his hips and took long strides towards her bed. 

 

“Don’t get used to this. This is a one off.”

 

He wasn’t sure if he was talking to Missy or himself. 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

As with most things in her life, Missy was impatient in bed. Impatient and forward and persistent. There’s a lot of biting and there are moments when the biting turns too vicious, crossing the line between pleasure and pain too easily. 

 

“That hurts, Missy” he growled as she nipped slightly too hard at his neck.

 

Missy looked up at him from under hooded eyes, dark lashes grazing her cheeks as she blinked slowly. It was an uncomprehending look and he realised regretfully that she still couldn’t decipher between good and bad pain. 

 

“You like it though?” She asked in a husky whisper. 

 

The Doctor leaned down and covered her mouth, planting a soft and tender kiss to her waiting lips. A show rather than tell on how to be gentle. 

 

“You don’t need to be so rough all the time,” he sighed as he pulled away. 

 

It wasn’t the most conventional of pillow talk but they weren’t the most conventional of couples. 

 

“Is sex going to be rehab lessons as well?” Missy asks, seemingly unaffected by the Doctor’s tenderness. 

 

The Doctor’s removing his boxers and trailing a hand up her thigh, unperturbed by her snipes. 

 

“It’s a one off, I’ve told you. Now are you sure you want this?” 

 

“I’m not one of your humans. Is that what you ask them?” Missy drawls in response. 

 

The Doctor hears the tremble in her voice despite her bravado. The fogginess of mind brought on by the wine disappears and he pushes his own desire away, unsure whether she was the right thing for either of them.

 

“Missy, I’m asking you a serious question. We can stop if you need to.”

 

“I’m sure. I want you to fuck me, I want to feel close to you.” 

 

The Doctor nodded and silently guided himself into her. She squirmed underneath him letting out a soft, husky gasp once he had fully entered her. He waited as she adjusted to the new feeling and briefly found himself contemplating her tightness and what that could mean.

 

“Is it this body’s first time?” He asked in a whisper, leaning down and kissing her shoulder. 

 

Missy made a small, non-committed hum that could have meant anything and lifted her hips in slow and meaningful movements that enticed him further into her waiting sex. The Doctor took the hint and started to move in and out of her with long, gentle strokes. Missy winced at first from the new intrusion, confirming the Doctor’s belief that this body was a virgin. Soon, the pain turned to pleasure and the Time Lady started to mewl underneath him. Her pleasure was far more restrained than he’d been expecting. Soft gasps and quiet whines of need slipped through her lips in the place of the loud and theatrical moans he’d been anticipating. It’s not long before Missy’s walls are clenching around his shaft drawing them both closer to their inevitable climax. Her whines become lower, more desperate and her chest starts to heave. The Doctor matches her cries of pleasure with a series of grunts. Stilling, he takes a peaceful second to admire the way her face contorts in pleasure. Missy’s eyes are squeezed shut, head tilted back and facing away from the Doctor. 

 

She’s overwhelmed by the intensity and he can sense it. 

 

“Look at me, darling” he stutters breathily placing a string of kisses along the expanse of her neck. 

 

She’s on the cusp of falling over the edge and that makes her more pliant. Sloppily, she faces him opening her eyes and staring at him with blown pupils. The familiar look is identical to the one she’d worn as an inexperienced soon-to-be Time Lord at the Academy. The Doctor picks up his pace again and in seconds she’s crumbling around him, whole body shaking as she cums over his length. He’s not far behind her, spilling his hot seed into her as she shudders and returns to her senses. Panting, he kisses her lips and frowns when she doesn’t respond. Looking into her eyes, he sees unshed tears glistening and threatening to fall down her reddened cheeks. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Missy stuttered as he pulls out of her and falls next to her on the mattress. “I shouldn’t have…I lost control…I shouldn’t have.”

 

“Missy, come here” he coos softly opening his arms to her. She shuffles into his embrace, still pliant in her post-orgasm haze. “Why are you sorry? We both enjoyed ourselves. It was nice. It’s okay, you don’t need to be sorry. If you want to cry, it’s okay to cry. You can feel how you want to feel.”

 

Missy mumbled something incomprehensible and turned into him. Their sweaty skin stuck together as she intertwined their limbs. The Doctor tucked her head under his chin and kissed the top of her head. She shook in his arms and he felt hot tears track down his chest. After a few seconds, his eyes looked over her shoulder to her side of the mattress. A small blood stain is left behind, intermingling with the other sordid remnants of their encounter. It was very human and she got funny about those things. His suspicions that this was her first sexual experience in this body was confirmed. 

 

“Will you get me the morning after pill?” Missy sniffs as her tears subside. “Neither of us want any mistakes.”

 

“Of-course I will.” Lazily his fingers trace circles down her arm. “Do you want to tell me how you’re feeling?”

 

“I liked the sex,” Missy says almost robotically. “I just don’t like it as much as I used to.” 

 

He kisses the top of her head again, inhales the scent of her hair. It smells like a mixture of lavender and apples. 

 

“What was different?”

 

Missy shrugs and says nothing. 

 

“Can you tell me how you’re feeling?” 

 

“I feel sick.” 

 

She doesn’t. That’s her default excuse when she can’t express how she’s really feeling- it’s like a toddler complaining of a tummy ache. The Doctor smooths her hair back gently, pulling a small smile out of her. 

 

“Would you like a bath? You can have a bath and I’ll get you the morning after pill and then we’ll go to bed. What do you say?” 

 

Missy nodded and got out of bed, padding along the floor and disappearing into the bathroom. 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

Bath run, Missy rested in the scalding water chin perched on the porcelain edge as she watched light reflect from the mirror and run across the skirting board. Her mind whirred with thoughts over what had just happened. She hadn’t been that openly intimate with the Doctor in centuries. It had scared her and made her feel like she was drowning. She’d disappointed him- started a game she could no longer play. Closing her eyes, she shuddered as she thought back to her time awaiting execution. Thought back to the hands of the guards touching her where she hadn’t wanted to be touched and threatening to do more if she didn’t behave. 

 

“I’m back!”

 

The Doctor’s chirpy greeting drew her back to the Vault and to the present. She grounded herself by listening to his steady footsteps. Beaming up at him as he arrived. He returned her smile, pulling out a dissolvable pill and passing it to her. She took it gratefully and watched as he sat down on the bath edge. 

 

“Get in with me” 

 

“What?” The Doctor asked, shocked. 

 

“Get in the bath with me,” Missy repeated. “Please.”

 

The Doctor nodded, starting to strip down for the second time that evening. He stepped into the bath and settled down into the water and bubbles. Missy pounced on him as soon as he’d sunk into the water, curling up against him. 

 

“Bad things happened on that planet. They threatened me and I don’t like sex anymore. I still like you.”

 

The Doctor listened carefully, starting to comb his fingers through her hair. 

 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” 

 

“Not right now.”

 

Missy looks over at the messy pile of clothes on the tiled floor. Her eyes fall on the odd rubber item that’s fallen out of his velvet jacket. 

 

“What’s that?” 

 

Distracted, the Doctor follows her line of vision. 

 

“Oh that’s just a silly little thing. It’s Mr. Huffle”

 

“Mr Huffle?” Missy scoffs. “He’s kind of sweet. I guess.”

 

“Yes,” the Doctor says, an idea forming. “Would you like to keep hold of him in the Vault? A human taught me his proper use and I can show you.”

 

Missy paused and considered it thoughtfully. 

 

“Okay then,” she nods eventually. “Mr. Huffle’s mine now.”

 

The Doctor smiled, hoping his idea would pay off.


	13. Mr Huffle and Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy suffers after their intimacy and the Doctor tries to help her understand. So does Mr. Huffle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for mentions of sexual assault.

It takes a week for the Doctor to realise the gravity of the mistake he had made. He would say it was their mistake but he’s not entirely sure Missy understands what happened or-more importantly- how it affected her. Following their bath, Missy had retreated further into herself refusing to talk to him or take an interest in anything. It was a stark reminder of the early days in the Vault and a period the Doctor thought they’d drawn a line under decades ago. While over the last few days, she’d recovered some capacity and desire for verbal communication she still wasn’t quite right. With her renewed tendency to fluxate between moods, Nardole had point blank refused to clean the Vault or deliver her meals. The Cyborg may not have known exactly what had gone on between the Time Lords, but he knew enough to know he didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to have to reattach his head again, either. 

 

Walking down the partially-lit stairwell with a tray of Missy’s breakfast, the Doctor was careful to avoid the wet leaves sticking to the concrete. In the distance, sounds of students and lecturers rushing to the first class of the day sounded out. Smiling to himself, the Doctor relaxed slightly as he rounded the last corner content in the knowledge that he’d escaped questions on his absence for another morning. 

 

“Ah! Professor Smith.”

 

The familiar voice of the latest Chancellor of the university brought the Time Lord to a halting stop. He’d managed to run away from Time Lords, Daleks and Cybermen but evading a middle-aged, potbellied Professor proved too difficult. 

 

“Professor Jenkins.”

 

Turning to face the professor in question, the Doctor practised great restraint in hiding the groan from his voice. Judging by Professor Jenkin’s expression, he’d at least managed to remember his name this time. 

 

“I was starting to worry we’d lost you, old boy. I hear on good word that you haven’t given any of your lectures for nearly a week.”

 

“Ah. About that I did leave a message with your secretary. My mother’s ill and staying with me. She needs round the clock care.” 

 

Looking back towards the Vault doors, the Doctor could already feel Missy’s residual distress. He wondered if she’d broken the barrier again and could sense things outside. He’d have to rewire if that was the case. Professor Jenkins’ chubby red face fell into a reserved frown and he ducked his head apologetically. 

 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he mumbled awkwardly. “My new secretary is a bit of a scatter brain, I’ll have a word with the girl but please take as much time as you need.”

 

“No, now don’t be too hard on the girl,” the Doctor cringed as he felt himself slip easily into the 1980s dialogue. He had no doubt that the girl in question was a full-grown woman. Still, in his defence, Professor Jenkin’s was nothing more than a mere boy to him. “I’ve had a lot on my mind and we’ve probably crossed wires.”

 

Professor Jenkins nodded and looked set to speak again when a loud crash echoed from the Vault. The Doctor was about to give his usual excuse of squirrels or rats or birds when an angry screech emerged. Gulping, the Time Lord quickly retrieved his pocketed neuro-blocker and distracted the human. 

 

“Ah! Professor Smith” the human greeted obliviously, blinking away the remnants of the flash. “I can’t for the devil remember why I’m down here, but it is good to see you. I’ve been meaning to ask- why haven’t you been holding lectures?”

 

The Doctor, more prepared this time, scrambled for some psychic paper. Consciously, he kept half an eye on the Vault doors. No further noises had emerged yet but that wasn’t strictly a good thing. 

 

“I booked three weeks off,” he flashed the paper in Professor Jenkin’s face. “I’m happy to take some of that marking for you though.” He had to earn some brownie points. 

 

“Very well and if you’re sure? I wouldn’t want to ruin your time off.”

 

Despite his words, the human was already handing over a wad of essays and paper work. 

 

“Now, I must be going. I’ve suddenly got an awful headache.” 

 

With that, Professor Jenkins disappeared up the stairs and into the grey morning sky- appeased for the time being. 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

Missy was not appeased. 

 

The sobbing heap the Doctor found in the middle of the floor was more belonging to a two-year old throwing a strop than a Time Lady several thousand years of age. Sat in a circle made up of Yana and the blankets from her bed, Missy’s whole body shook with cries she couldn’t control. The Doctor would have been more concerned had this not been the scene he’d found every time he left her for more than half an hour. Calmly, he walked to the table and placed her breakfast down. All the while he hummed and cooed, letting her know he was there but that she had to try and soothe herself. Being in this Vault wasn’t just about making her good, it was about making her better. Ridding himself of his jacket, he started to hum one of her favourite songs when he heard her sobbing escalate. 

 

“Doctor…Doctor,” Missy cried trying to catch her breath. “Why are you ignoring me? Please, Doctor I want you.” 

 

“I’m not ignoring you, I’m right here but I want you to try and calm yourself down for me. Please Missy, you were doing so well at it before. I know you can calm yourself down, where’s Yana?” He encouraged.

 

It saddened him having to talk to her like this but there was no other way. Back still turned, he busied himself setting out the table. He heard her breathing calm and her cries subside as she crawled across the floor to retrieve the robotic cat. 

 

“I’ve got him,” she croaked eventually. “Will you come and sit with me now?”

 

The Doctor turned around and smiled gently at her. Shaking his head, he observed the way her trembling hands stroked the plush fur of the cat. Yana responded realistically, preening under her attention and clearly proving a comfort to the distressed Time Lady. 

 

“I’d like you to come and sit with me, Missy. At the table, so we can both have some breakfast.” 

 

Missy’s wet eyes looked from the Doctor to the table and back again in consideration. Slowly, without saying a word, she got up and walked towards the table. As she sat down, the Doctor took the seat next to her. It took less than two seconds for the Doctor to feel her hand grab his and pull it into her lap. Yana’s soft fur tickled the back of his hand as it rested next to the robotic cat. 

 

“Okay, Missy,” the Doctor cooed. “I’m here now. Can you tell me what made you so upset?” 

 

He knew the answer, of course. It was their encounter last week- she hadn’t dealt with it and he felt guilty. The answer she’d give him, though, would be something small. A stupid thing that had upset her and masked what was truly wrong. 

 

“I lost Mr. Huffle,” she sniffed. 

 

To the Doctor’s surprise, her free hand reached for a slice of toast. Breaking it in half, she began to nibble on the crust. The Doctor squeezed her hand in encouragement, noting the evident strain of eating. 

 

“We’ll find Mr. Huffle,” he soothed. It was like telling a child they’d find their favourite soft toy. Looking around the room, he frowned at the mess. “I think once it’s a bit tidier in here, we’ll find him.”

 

Missy ignored the comment and placed the toast back on her plate. 

 

“You gave me Mr. Huffle. I don’t want to lose him.”

 

“I did. Do you remember why I gave him to you?”

 

Missy nodded and sniffed again. The Doctor watched regretfully as fresh tears fell down her cheeks. 

 

“That’s why I want him. I want to do what you said.”

 

The Doctor’s eyebrows pinched together and he looked at her in confusion, not daring to believe what he was hearing. She was wanting to talk to him about things and wasn’t asking for a reward.

 

“Does that mean you’d like to talk to me, Missy? You can do that without Mr. Huffles.”

 

“No, I can’t. If I have him, I have to be honest or I will hurt him and I can’t hurt things because of the rules.” 

 

“Okay,” the Doctor nodded. “Let’s have a look for him together then?” 

 

Missy bit her bottom lip, drawing blood as she thought hard about the situation. 

 

“Can I see the guinea pigs first?” 

 

“Yes, we need to feed them anyway.”

 

XXXXXXXX

 

The guinea pigs had been relocated to the Vault a few months ago, the Doctor deciding Missy was stable enough to have them with her full time. Observing the immaculate condition of their pen, the Doctor noted that she’d taken better care of her furry friends than herself. He watched her face light up with a brief smile as the pair nibbled at a handful of berries in her palm. 

 

“You’re looking after them really well, Missy.”

 

“I think they like me,” Missy responded uncertainly. “I haven’t tried to hurt them at all.”

 

“That’s excellent. I’m really proud of you.”

 

There was a momentary pause and the Doctor held his breath as he saw Missy grab hold of one of the animals a bit tighter than necessary. 

 

“What would happen if I hurt one? Their necks are so easy to snap.”

 

“Do you want to hurt one?” The Doctor asked calmly. 

 

“No. I don’t think I do.”

 

XXXXXXXX

 

It’s damp in her prison. It’s always damp and despite her heightened immune system, she always manages to get a cold. It’s not a human cold, either. It’s worse- leaving her shivering and bunged up for weeks on end. At least the cold was giving her a break from the time chambers. She wasn’t sure when her next round of ‘treatment’ in the time chambers would start but knew she had some time before then. 

 

Outside, she hears the heavy footsteps of the executioners approaching. It must be shift change time again. The whispered conversation between the two guards slips under the door with the biting wind. Although it’s in their native tongue, Missy had been captive long enough to grasp the basic understanding of their language. 

 

“Is she behaving today?” The executioner that had just arrived asked. 

 

“Within reason,” came the response. “She’s a bit ill though, been whinging about the conditions and doesn’t seem to grasp that this is her prison and not a hotel. 

 

“We can help remind her exactly what kind of place this is. You got an hour or so to spare?” 

 

The executioner must have nodded because within seconds, two armoured men were stood in the doorway of her cell. Missy turned to face them like a bored lioness resting in the midday sun. Fixing a look of utter disdain on her face, she tutted at their presence. 

 

“Oh goodie, the toy soldiers are back. Just what I needed tonight. Though, now you’re here, I’d like to talk to you about this linen. It is absolutely not Egyptian cotton and it simply won’t do.”

 

Despite her bravado, her blocked and croaky voice betrayed her vulnerability. The larger of the two men approached the end of the bed, sitting casually and resting his hand on her ankles. His thumb pressed firm circles into her skin and she shivered involuntarily as he smirked at her. To anyone but Missy, his intentions were clear. The Time Lady scoffed at him, shirking away as the other executioner approached the head of the bed and sat down wrapping his arm around her shoulder and resting his hand over her breast. 

 

Missy froze, unsure of the intrusion. Lower species couldn’t touch her like this- it wasn’t allowed. She didn’t have much time to think as she felt a hand trail up her leg and disappear between her legs. 

 

“What in Rassilon’s name do you think you’re doing?” She hissed, attempting to pull away but unable to escape their touches. It seemed impossible that there were just two of them. 

 

“Shh, shh, shh” one of the executioners cooed. She wasn’t sure which. “You would be quite an attractive thing if you learnt to keep your mouth shut.” 

 

Missy tried to find a way to retort but couldn’t. The words stuck in her throat and mingled with the rising bile. She felt a hand press deeper against her and squirmed as she felt her knickers removed. 

 

“I think it’s high time you remember that we’re not here for your leisure, Missy.”

 

XXXXXXXX

 

“Missy,” the Doctor said carefully shaking the Time Lady’s shoulders and forcing her to wake up. “Missy, you’re only dreaming.” 

 

The Doctor had been quite happy when the Time Lady had fallen to sleep on the bed while watching him tidy the Vault and look for Mr. Huffle (He'd found him edged between the sofa and one of the space heaters. He’d been less happy when he’d heard her start to whimper and even more concerned when he caught sight of the wet patch on the bed. That was the third day in a row she’d had an accident and he knew it was brought on by psychological stress. 

 

“Doctor?” Missy questioned in confusion before looking down at the bed in dismay. “They’re not here?”

 

“No one’s here but me and you, Missy.”

 

“Okay. I don’t want them here.”

 

“They’re not here. Would you like me to help you get cleaned up?” 

 

Missy nodded and neither said anymore on the incident as they walked to the bathroom. 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

In fresh pyjamas Missy sat curled up on the sofa with Yana as the Doctor changed the sheets. 

 

“I’m sorry,” the Time Lady mumbled evidently embarrassed now she was more awake. 

 

“These things happen,” the Doctor reassured. “For me, it was after the Time War when I thought I was the only one to survive. Psychological trauma has a physical impact, Missy, even if we are Time Lords. It really does help to talk.”

 

“Did you find Mr. Huffle?” 

 

“I did. Would you like to talk now?”

 

“Okay.”

 

XXXXXXXX

 

“Why did he want to touch me there though?” Missy asked, holding Mr. Huffle close to her chest.

 

Resting her head in the Doctor’s lap, she tried to calm her breathing as he played with her hair. The Time Lady had spent the past hour detailing her dream and explaining the ways the executioners had touched and threatened her every night and morning.

 

It was a ritual of her imprisonment. 

 

“It’s a sexual organ, Missy” he replied softly. “For humans and many other humanoid species. Even Gallifreyans experience sexual pleasure that way.”

 

“But only if the Gallifreyan feels connected to the other being. If not, it’s just another part of the body.” 

 

“How did it make you feel when they touched you?”

 

Missy went very quiet. The Doctor stroked her hair with greater purpose, focused on keeping her with him and making sure she didn’t shut down. 

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Yes, you do,” the Doctor encouraged. “You can’t lie while you’re holding Mr Huffle.”

 

Missy went to hand the plastic toy back but the Doctor shook his head. 

 

“Take a deep breath, Missy. Now tell me, did it feel good or bad?”

 

“Bad.”

 

“Can you tell me why?”

 

“It felt like an invasion of my space. I had no control.” Missy gulped and her eyes widened. “Is this why what I did to Lucy was wrong?”

 

“You never told me what you did to Lucy but I can imagine the gory details,” he sighed. “If you touch someone and they don’t like it or want it, it’s wrong.”

 

“I did it for power though.”

 

“I suspect that was part of their reasoning too.”

 

Missy’s brow furrowed in confusion and she shook her head. 

 

“I don’t understand. I just didn’t like it. Did you have sex with me for power?”

 

“No, Missy. I had sex with you because I love you deeply and I wanted to share a connection with you. It’s just the same as when we were younger, there’s no power games. You used to understand this better, sweetheart. What happened to get it all jumbled?”

 

“Regeneration gets fuzzy. I’m old, Doctor. I understand sex between Time Lords with telepathy and deep connections but the other stuff is confusing. You won’t do what they did to me?”

 

“I would never do that.”

 

“Would you ever do that to me?” The Doctor asked gently. He wasn’t sure either way. 

 

Missy sighed and closed her eyes, silently passing Mr.Huffle back to the Doctor. 

 

“I can’t lie while I’m holding him and I don’t want to answer that question honestly. I’m trying to be good.”

 

The Doctor swallowed and sighed, accepting the rubber toy. 

 

“Being good’s a process and you’re trying. Do you have any more questions for me?”

 

Missy nodded.

 

“Go on then, what is it?”

 

“Can we go back and see the guinea pigs now?”

 

“Yes. But don’t bring Yana, he scares them.”


	14. Trick or Treat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy and the Doctor enjoy festivities. 
> 
> Only a small update, I have tonsillitis and I'm feeling horribly sorry for myself but wanted to update this. Hoping to get more regular with fic updates :) Any feedback appreciated.

As soon as Missy had settled into life in the Vault, the Doctor had tried to make holidays special. Not only did festive cheer and seasonal spirit provide a break from the monotonous daily routine but it also allowed Missy to gauge how life worked in the linear. Neither her nor the Doctor were used to time passing day by day and month by month. Neither particularly liked it either. Still, it was the way they would have to get used to time moving for the foreseeable future and so celebrating the little festivities helped to pass the seconds. Of course, Missy was still blocked from sensing time outside of the Vault and celebrating the holidays in order was a no-no. For the last twenty years, they’d created their own calendar of holidays- Christmas in March, Halloween in July and New Year’s in October. 

It didn’t make sense but it they’d never made sense and they’d fallen into a happy routine with special times to share. 

Today, on a scorching day in mid-July, it was time for the Time Lords’ to celebrate their Halloween. Fortunately, it was the summer holidays, so the Doctor had no lectures. Acquiring scary costumes in July was no small feat but he did have a time machine and Missy had been quite taken with arts and crafts in recent years. 

It was amazing what she could make out of an old bin bag and some sparkly pens. 

XXXXXXXX

Missy smiled proudly and sat back on her heels as she admired her neatly organised shelves. The Doctor had spent the last two days constructing the unit next to her bed. She’d asked for a place to put her special belongings and given how receptive she’d been over the last few weeks, the Doctor had been happy to oblige. Her DIY morning had helped pass the hours as she waited for the Doctor to return with his stash of spooky goods. 

“What do you think, Yana?” Missy asked, stroking the robotic cat and beaming as he purred under her hand. “I like it too. When Mr. Eyebrows comes back, he’s going to bring the glue and scissors and I’m going to finish the sign and then it will be perfect.”

Tugging at the sleeves of her cashmere jumper, Missy covered her hands and took a moment to breathe. She smiled down at the twinkling sequins that were sewn on to the light blue jumper- it was her favourite new item of clothing, sparkly and warm. Levelling her breathing, she stroked Yana and repeated the Doctor’s promises to her in her mind. It was their Halloween day. He’d be down any moment, he’d promised it wouldn’t be late tonight. She forced herself not to grow paranoid that he wouldn’t show. They’d spoken about this and he’d promised that the longest time he’d ever leave her for would be an afternoon. 

“Halloween, Yana” Missy hummed standing up. “I used to like scaring children. I don’t suppose I can do that anymore, but I like dressing up and I can do that.”

The robotic cat mewled and rubbed its head against Missy’s palm. In the far corner of the room, the guinea pigs chirped at the sound of their owner’s voice and in anticipation of food. Missy peered into their pen. 

“Are you hungry, again?” 

More chirping. 

“Okay, okay I’ll get you some food. How about carrots and leeks today? You like leeks” she hummed to herself. “Sorry Yana, you scare the babies, so you have to wait here.”

Placing Yana on his velvet bed, Missy walked over to the guinea pigs’ pen via the kitchen and starts to hand feed the plump animals. Distracted by her pets’ eagerness and affection, Missy didn’t notice when the Doctor walked in armed with two boxes of arts supplies and costumes. Nardole followed behind with two pumpkins. 

“You fed them before I left,” the Doctor’s laughed as he caught sight of her hunched over the pen. It was nice to see her care for living beings and her evident love for the guinea pigs always warmed his heart. “You’re going to make them fat.”

“Shh,” Missy mock gasped, making a show of trying to cover the guinea pigs’ ears. “My babies aren’t fat, they’re perfect in every way.”

“Oh, my apologies,” the Doctor laughed and placed his boxes down on the table. Nardole followed him in and put the pumpkins on the chair before disappearing. While the cyborg enjoyed the Christmas and Easter celebrations, Halloween was not for him. 

Missy stood up, smiling and prowling towards him while eyeing the boxed goodies. Reaching him, she pecked his cheek and ran her fingers over the costume supplies. The Doctor observed her choice of clothing and shook his head at the jumper in such warm weather.

“It’s not me you need to apologise to, it’s my babies.”

“I’m not doing that, Missy. Now do you want to finish your shelf first or start the Halloween fun?”

Missy made a show of tutting at his refusal to apologise to her and retrieved a large sheet of cardboard, starting to draw the words for her shelf and answering his question non-verbally.

XXXXXXXX

“My pumpkin is better than yours. Yours doesn’t even look scary, it looks like one of your earlier regenerations,” Missy criticised as she took a bite out of her toffee apple and licked her lips. 

“You’ve carved a one-eyed penguin,” the Doctor scoffed. “That’s hardly scary!”

“Oh, so you’d be happy to see a one-eyed penguin waddling towards you in the middle of a dark night?”

The Doctor rolled his eyes but said nothing. 

“I thought so!” Missy hummed in triumph as she wrapped a seemingly never-ending scarf around herself and placed some novelty glasses on. Balancing them on her nose, she ran her tongue over her teeth and beamed smugly. “Guess who I am? Go on- guess!”

The Doctor looked up, curiosity turning to a scowl. 

“Missy,” he hissed in warning. “Don’t joke about her. Take the glasses of”

“I’m her, do you get it? The pretty squishy one that went pop!”

“Missy, I won’t warn you again. Take them off.”

“Spoil sport!” Missy tutted, sliding the glasses off her nose. “She was a lovely wee thing. Bright for a human.”

The Doctor tapped the table in agitation and bit the inside of his cheek. 

“Then why did you kill her?”

Missy shrugged. 

“It’s not cake and therapy day, it’s Halloween day. Save your questions Freud.”

The Doctor inhaled sharply but didn’t press the issue. Missy went back to digging deep into the box of Halloween supplies, pulling out a set of false teeth before starting to make some fairy wings. 

XXXXXXXX

Later, after too many sweets have been consumed and all the costumes have been tried on, Missy and the Doctor lay together lazily on the sofa. The Doctor hums idly as he runs his fingers through Missy’s locks. 

“You’re going to be snoring in five minutes, I guarantee” he teased, twirling a strand of chocolate hair around his finger. Flicking the devil horns Missy’s wearing, he chuckles at the sour expression his met with. 

“Nah. I had too many e-numbers for that.”

 

“Hmm, that’s true. Well, that’s Halloween over with for another year.”

 

“Mhmm” Missy nods. “What’s next? Can it be one with presents? I like the ones with presents.”

 

“I know you do. We’ll see. Do you have any specific presents in mind?” He asks because he can never resist treating her when he can and when she deserves it. 

 

“More arts stuff, a colouring book and a drone” she lists, eyes shutting again. 

 

“That’s a yes then,” he laughs. “And yes, yes and no to the requests.”

 

“I thought as much but had to try. I want a dolly too and two leads for my babies.”

 

“They do guinea pig leads?”

“Yes”

“You’re not getting all of this at once. If you help me mark my essays, you can get one of the items and then we’ll agree on a few chores you can do for the other ones.”

“Boring.”

 

“I know. Anyone would think you were in prison. And Missy?”

 

“Mhmm?” She asks, sleep close by. 

 

“Are you sure a doll is a good idea?”

 

“Yes, I want one please.”

 

The Doctor sighs, weighs up the memories that may come with it and kisses her forehead. 

 

“We’ll see. That might be a Christmas gift in a few months.”

 

“Fine. Now I’m tired. Time for beddy bye byes.”

 

“Night night, Missy.”


	15. Bad Hair Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy and bubble gum don't mix. 
> 
> Missy and pampering do. 
> 
> Here's another chapter, any feedback appreciated as always. Thanks for reading.

“There’s so much,” the Doctor tutted removing another bobby pin from Missy’s hair and combing his fingers through the knots. “How did you get bubble gum in it? How did you get bubble gum in the first place? I never brought you any.” 

 

Missy shrugged and scowled, wincing as the Doctor brought a comb to a matted chunk of hair intertwined with gum. 

 

“I might have to cut this bit out. Hold still and stop fussing.”

 

A long drawn out sigh left Missy’s lips as her shoulders slumped forwards. Within two seconds, the Time Lady was sobbing. Within another two seconds, she was howling and wailing. The Doctor set the brush down on the coffee table and ran his hand over his face, letting out a tired sigh and stepping away from the emotional Missy. He was unconvinced by her tears- after nearly a year of stability, he’d started to recognise when she was using crying as her last tool of manipulation. 

 

“Why are you crying Missy?” He asked, starting to read through an Old Housewives’ Remedy book on how to get bubble gum out of hair. 

 

“Because,” Missy sniffed and let out a few more cries. “Because you hurt me when you were brushing my hair. You hurt me and now you’re threatening to cut all my hair off. I like my hair and I don’t want you to cut it off. I’ll be bald- balder than fat humpty dumpty! And…and…and you are mean to me. You keep me locked up and you wouldn’t treat your friends like that.” 

 

The Doctor sighed again but smiled slightly at her choice of words. Just hearing her say ‘friends’ over ‘pets’ was enough to give him hope that they were making progress. Even if it was small progress. 

 

“I’m sorry it hurt when I was brushing your hair, Missy” he consoled as he approached her once more. He caught her eyes sparkle and lips quirk and knew for sure that they were crocodile tears. “I don’t think it hurt enough to cry like this though and I’m not going to be giving you anymore presents or treats to make up for this so save us both the time and stop the waterworks.”

 

Missy’s eyes glazed over. Her jaw locked as she straightened her back and puffed out a breath of defeat. In an instant, she went from a sobbing two-year old to a sulking twelve-year old. 

 

“Fine,” she ground out through gritted teeth. “I don’t want you to cut my hair off though.”

 

“I’m not going to cut off all your hair. Just the chunk with the bubble gum in.”

 

Looking at the long ends of Missy’s hair, the Doctor sighed at the web of knots and bubble gum and split ends that looked more like rat tails than the luscious locks she had once had. She’d stopped looking after her appearance since her life in the Vault, through both lack of desire and, on some days, inability to do so. Even though her tears hadn’t been real this time, he knew her lack of personal care harboured something deeper. He might not have to cut off all her hair, but it could do with a decent trim. Lifting the brush again, he attempted to start brushing the knots. Missy shirked away and lashed out, knocking the brush out of his hand and landing a hard smack against his shoulder. The Doctor jumped back, sensing her volatile mood. 

 

“That,” the Doctor hissed, rubbing his shoulder. “That is unacceptable behaviour, Missy. I will never accept physical violence and I thought you’d got better than that. I’m so disappointed in you.”

 

Missy rolled her eyes to the back of her head and snarled. 

 

“Spare me the lecture, just get out before I give you a bloody nose.”

 

The Doctor left her to cool off.

 

XXXXXXXX

 

Nardole shuffled into the Doctor’s office, laden with a tray of tea and biscuits. The Doctor looked up from his reading long enough to tut at the cyborg. 

 

“Did you have another domestic with Missy?”

 

The Doctor scowled and took his tea. 

 

“She’s…She’s not behaving today” he admitted. He hated admitting to Nardole when Missy was behaving, well, behaving like Missy. He always thought it was affirmation that he was right about spoiling her. “I’m letting her cool off.”

 

“I see,” Nardole nodded and took a seat opposite the Time Lord. His podgy hands fiddled with the eclectic mix and match on the desk. “Did you get the gum out of her hair?”

 

“No,” the Doctor replied instantly. 

 

“Want me to have a go? Her hair’s quite tangled too, when was the last time it was brushed? I’ve got the knack for it after brushing it out in her first years down there.”

 

The Doctor blinked. He’d forgotten Nardole had done that in the early years, it seemed an eternity ago. All those times Nardole had snuck in and brushed her hair, clipped her nails and forced her to brush her teeth while she was heavily medicated. It hadn’t been all the time- the Doctor had taken the heavy load of her care but there had been days when he was overwhelmed by his new responsibilities to his oldest friend. Though those days were rare, the Doctor had been content to leave Missy alone and hide away. Nardole had been surprisingly compassionate towards the Time Lady. Of course, neither him nor the Doctor had ever admitted to Missy quite how much he’d done for her. 

 

“She’s not in the right mood. You’ll get hurt if you go down there,” he stated. 

 

And he was deadly serious. 

 

“Ah but Nardole has the magic touch, she used to be fine with me doing it.”

 

“She also used to be heavily sedated. Nardole, you will get hurt if you go within reach of her tonight.”

 

Nardole huffed and picked up a digestive. They fell into silence both lost in their own musings when the cyborg spoke again. 

 

“I have an idea. You won’t like it at first but hear me out.”

 

The Doctor’s eyebrows knitted together, and he waited to hear the cyborg out. 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

The Doctor doesn’t visit Missy again for two days. When he does she’s calmer and more reserved but with bigger hair and a more stubborn knot of gum in the back of her curls. She’s tucked up under a blanket on the sofa, browsing through a History Today magazine and pointedly ignoring the Doctor. The guinea pigs are nestled in her lap, chirping happily as she strokes them. The Doctor smiles, knowing he had done the right thing in leaving the pets with her and not making her stay in the containment field every time he left. 

 

“Sit up Missy, I want to talk to you.”

 

Missy rolled her eyes and continued to ignore him.

 

“Missy. Put the guinea pigs away and join me at the table now.”

 

She mumbled under her breath, mimicking his words and scowling but following his orders and joining him at the table. The Doctor remained silent, on purpose, for several minutes as he waited to see if Missy would do the right thing. 

 

After eight and a half minutes, she does. 

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“What for?”

 

“For hitting you and for trying to manipulate you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

 

The Doctor nodded. 

 

“You’re right. You shouldn’t have but thank you for apologising. Now, your hair. What are we going to do about it?” 

 

Missy shrugged. 

 

“You can cut it off. It’s not like anyone sees me in here anyway.”

 

“I’m not cutting it off. You love your hair in this body, I know that. Which is why I can’t understand why you don’t take care of it, or yourself, anymore?” 

 

He glanced at her chipped nails and the dirt caught underneath them. Missy pulled her jumper sleeves over her hands. It was her favourite jumper with the sequins that need a wash and had spaghetti sauce stain down the front. 

 

“What’s the point? It’s only you that sees me and Nardole. I don’t have the energy for it.”

 

“Why don’t you do it for you? You’ve never had a problem doing stuff for yourself before.”

 

It wasn’t meant to be an insult, but it sounded like one. Missy scoffed. 

 

“Yes, you’re right. I’m such a vain, selfish cow.”

 

“That’s not what I meant. We need to sort your hair out though.”

 

“I used to have a hairdresser, she was marvellous and wouldn’t hurt me brushing my hair.”

 

The Doctor listened and wondered if he could contact said hairdresser. It probably wasn’t a good idea. 

 

“Where is she now?”

 

“I killed her.” 

 

It was unsurprising and put an end to the not-good idea straight away. 

 

“Right,” the Doctor coughed. “Now, I have an idea and I want you to hear me out.”

 

Missy looked at the Doctor cynically, waving her hand for him to voice his (Nardole’s) idea.

 

“Nardole has a friend. She’s human and she does hair and nails and make up.”

 

“I’m thrilled for her,” Missy drawled. “Why are you telling me about her existence?”

 

“Because I think she could come and take care of your hair. She’s…she’s got experience with difficult clients.” 

 

He left out that Nardole’s friend went to psychiatric hospitals and prisons cutting the hair and doing the nails of those unable to look after themselves. 

 

“I’ve been bad. Why are you treating me?”

 

“You’ve apologised,” the Doctor shrugged. “Let’s move on. You’ve got to promise me you’ll behave. I’m going to be here the whole time, but can you understand why I’m worried about you being near humans and sharp objects?”

 

Missy nodded.

 

“I want a haircut though. I’ll behave.”

 

“Thank-you. I’m going to give you half a sedative though, just to be sure.”

 

“You just love drugging me,” Missy teased.

 

“I don’t.” 

 

“When is she going to come here?” 

 

“Tomorrow. I’ll come down and see you before she arrives to make sure you’re still okay with it and then Nardole will bring her down.” 

 

“Okay then. I’d like that.”

 

XXXXXXXX

 

Cerys was a stocky woman who looked more like a dinner lady than a hairdresser. Nardole had explained how they’d met several times to the Doctor but he still hadn’t quite understood it. Assessing the woman, he noted her bag of scissors and combs and pots of nail polish. He hadn’t told Missy she’d be painting her nails too and he hoped she’d like the extra surprise. 

 

“So, you see, Cerys, our friend downstairs is in a quite a unique situation” Nardole offered tactfully. The Doctor coughed and avoided her gaze as the cyborg continued. “You might think it’s a bit harsh, having her down there like that but it’s where she feels safe. She likes it.”

 

Fortunately, the Doctor had used a chameleon arch to make the Vault appear like a basement flat. The pair still worried Cerys might be startled by the living environment; they hadn’t disclosed that none of them were humans, simply explaining instead that Missy was an old friend recently released from hospital and still needing close attention. A pampering, they had said, might lift her spirits. They’d also mentioned her mishap with the bubble gum. 

 

“Don’t you worry your heads, pet, I’ve seen all sorts in my time. Now, if you don’t mind me asking, why was she in hospital, just so I know what I’m dealing with.”

 

The Doctor and Nardole looked at each other, unsure what to say.

 

“Delusions” the Doctor said, just as Nardole stated “violent outbursts.”

 

Cerys looked between the pair, nose crinkling. 

 

“What we mean is she was having delusions and had been prone to violent outbursts. She’s better now, but has bouts of depression and can get quite anxious.”

 

As the Doctor explained it, he considered how simple it was to equate Missy’s moods and behaviour to human comparisons. Well, sometimes, anyway. Other times, there was no comparison. 

 

“Alright,” Cerys nodded. “Is there anything I shouldn’t mention…anything that might trigger her?” 

 

The Doctor nodded thoughtfully, realising just how experienced this human hairdresser was. 

 

“She had a baby girl who died shortly after birth” the Doctor said quickly. He already felt like he’d betrayed her but knowing he had to warn Cerys if she was going in there with scissors. “And she has experienced sexual violence.”

 

He doesn’t expand on that, not really knowing what happened to Missy or how to explain it to a human. He realises that Nardole hadn’t known any of this, but to the cyborg’s credit any shock he might have felt didn’t show. 

 

“Poor love,” Cerys says sympathetically. The Doctor suddenly feels like he is sending a lamb to slaughter by sending her into Missy’s Vault. 

 

“I need to go and check on her before you go down there. She’s having a dose of her medication and may be a bit drowsy while you’re there.” 

 

“No worries. If she’s not up to it, I’ll come back another day.”

 

Cerys smiled brightly while Nardole smiled nervously. 

 

“Let me get you a tea, Cerys” he offered as the Doctor headed downstairs.

 

XXXXXXXX

 

“I made her a cake,” Missy says as soon as the Doctor walks in. 

 

Taking off his coat, he watches as her eyes glance over his shoulder and look for the new person that had been due to visit. He caught the mixed look of excitement and apprehension and forced himself not to laugh at the way she’d tried to cover the gum in her hair with a re-fashioned sock. 

.  
“Take the sock out of your hair, Missy” he says. “How did you make a cake- you can’t use the oven alone”

 

Missy removes the sock, examining it critically. 

 

“Could still tell it was a sock, huh? Oh well,” she shrugged, throwing it in the bin. “I made those chocolate cornflake cakes. Melted the chocolate on the heaters and then mixed it all together.”

 

The Doctor nodded. It was a testament to how far they’d come that she was able to do those things without raising too much suspicion from him. 

 

“Did you use all the cornflakes? You like cornflakes in the morning.”

 

“There’s enough left for three bowls. I’ll need some more soon. Tell the round one.”

 

“I’ll write him a list.”

 

“Where is the hair lady, Doctor?”

 

“Upstairs. I said I’d come and see how you were first.”

 

“What’s she like?”

 

The Doctor narrows his eyes and looks at her hands clenched at her sides. She was anxious about this new person in her space. 

 

“She’s nice, Missy. She has nice hair, too, so that’s a good sign” he jokes. 

 

Missy laughs. It's a nervous laugh and he smiles kindly in response.

 

“Is she fat or thin?”

 

“She’s a little on the podgy side. Why?”

 

“Good. She’ll like my cake,” Missy pauses and leans forward teasingly. “And if I get bored and kill her, they’ll be plenty to go around.”

 

“She will like your cake,” the Doctor nods in agreement. “Don’t joke about killing her though. Now come over here and take this tablet.” 

 

XXXXXXXX

Cerys dug her fingers deep into Missy’s hair, massaging the shampoo into her scalp while Missy hummed happily to herself; breaking into an occasional operatic interlude. The Doctor sat nearby, watching Missy’s every movement and remaining ready to intervene if needed. The more her treatments progressed, however, the less likely that seemed. 

 

“You’ve a lovely voice, dear” Cerys praised. 

 

Missy’s eyes shot open and she looked to the Doctor for direction. He nodded encouragingly, hoping she’d respond the right way. 

 

“Thank-you,” the Time Lady said with a little uncertainty. “I’m bananas, you know?”

 

The Doctor winced. First half, right…second half, needs improvement. 

 

Cerys let out a hearty laugh.

 

“We’re all a little bit bananas, dear.”

 

Rinsing the shampoo away, Cerys wrapped Missy’s newly knot and gum free hair in a towel and eased her up. She was still a little unsteady on her feet from the sedative and clearly unsure of Cerys guiding her so, the Doctor stepped in- helping her get settled and letting Cerys sort the scissors and brushes out. 

 

“Now, isn’t that hair better without all those knots and sticky gum?”

 

Missy nodded, hooded eyes sparkling as she caught her reflection in the mirror of her dressing table. 

 

“Kerry?” She asks. 

 

The Doctor wasn’t sure whether Missy was deliberately calling Cerys the wrong name. Either way, the human wasn’t bothered by it. 

 

“Yes, my love?”

 

“I made you a cake.”

 

Smiling sadly, the Doctor made a mental note that this was the fourth time Missy had told Cerys about her cake. The Time Lady was clearly nervous with the new visitor and that, coupled with the sedative, was making her repetitive. Again, Cerys wasn’t bothered by it.

 

“Have you? Anyone would think you were trying to fatten me up” she laughed. 

 

Quick as a flash, Missy replied with a sly “maybe I am,” adding an over the top wink at the Doctor through the mirror. 

 

The Doctor tutted, glared at her in a faux-warning and went to dish up Cerys’ fourth cake of the visit. 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

“Do you like that I got them sparkly?”

 

Missy’s holding her right hand up for the Doctor’s observation. He nods, though the red sparkles are a bit garish for his taste. He watches as she runs a hand through her tangle free mane and notes her improved mood. 

 

Nardole’s idea had been a good one. 

 

“You were good today. Did you enjoy it?”

 

Missy nods, but lowers her eyes away from him. 

 

“What?”

 

He asks carefully, worried the crocodile tears would return and Missy would try and get more out of him. Maybe a pampering treat hadn’t been such a good idea. 

 

“I’m not about to fake cry, dear. Don’t worry.”

 

The Doctor stilled. She’d picked up on his thought. In a way it was good- it meant her mental abilities were picking up again. In another way, it was bad- had she broken the defence shield?

 

“I didn’t break anything. You stopped checking it worked decades ago. This is the first time I’ve been strong enough for telepathy and it’s tiring. That’s all I can manage for now.”

 

The Doctor nods. 

 

“I’m tightening the shield’s defence tomorrow. I’m pleased you’re getting stronger, but I can’t have you using telepathy or mental skills in here. Okay?”

 

“Yes, can I have some water?”

 

The Doctor grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and slides it along the table to her. He lets her take a few sips and then resumes questioning. 

 

“What’s wrong, Missy?”

 

“I really enjoyed today, and I sort of liked Kerry.”

 

“Her name is Cerys.”

 

“Whatever. I enjoyed it and I only thought about slashing her neck three times, maybe four.”

 

The Doctor narrowed his eyes but relented that that was improvement. Improvement of a sort, at least. 

 

“Okay. Then what’s the issue?”

 

“If I enjoyed it, what does that make me? If I’m good now, what is left of me?”

 

He didn’t have the hearts to tell her she was far from good. Instead, he reached his hand across the table and took hers. 

 

“It means you’re becoming the friend I knew all those years ago. It means this is working and it means that we’re going to get our dream.”

 

He’s met with silence. Missy pulls her hand away and the Doctor tries not to let his hurt show. Reaching inside her pocket, Missy pulls out two packets of bubble gum and passes it to him. 

 

“Take those away from me, Doctor. They’re more dangerous than all the weapons you took away.”

 

There’s mirth mixed with tears in Missy’s eyes when he stares into them and he realises she’s distancing herself from the intimacy of the moment and from the realness and hope that this time in the Vault might work. The Doctor lets her and remembers there’s a long way to go. 

Still, he’s the Doctor and he can’t help but let the hope grow a little bit more when he leaves the Vault that night. 

 

The next morning, he makes an appointment for Cerys to come and do Missy’s hair again in three months’ time. 

 

He also buys Nardole a tin of shortbread. As thanks and because, as Earth sci fi has shown him, it’s good to keep the cyborgs on side.


	16. Missy-care

Missy hummed to herself, dipping the paintbrush in the red pot and dabbing lightly across the blank canvas. Tongue hanging out the corner of her mouth in concentration, she used her free hand to smudge some charcoal shading. Quite what she was drawing remained a mystery to everyone, herself included. The artificial lighting provided some brightness to the otherwise darkened Vault, the Doctor watched from the far corner- observing the way her woollen cardigan slipped down her shoulder. Her hair was pinned up with extra pens and paintbrushes and a sprinkling of silver glitter lined the top of her frizzy. Nardole shuffled in looking between the two Time Lords and nudging the Doctor in the ribs. 

“Have you told her yet?” 

“Told me what?” 

Missy was trilling and cooing like the cat that got the cream. Intrigued by the hushed whispers of her friend and egg-shaped guardian, she spun in her seat and crossed her legs. Piercing eyes considered the Doctor and Nardole, red lips curling into a smirk as they walked further into her lair. A strip of red paint had stained her cheek and was starting to dry, as her smirk grew the paint cracked and showered chippings down her face.

“Come and sit over here with me, Missy, I want to tell you something.”

The Doctor’s hands balled at his sides, he was worried about leaving her for a whole week. Sure, she’d been more settled but that was with him visiting her every day. He wasn’t quite sure how she’d cope with just Nardole’s company for the week. Nardole rolled his eyes at the Doctor’s soft approach and shuffled into the kitchen, putting on the kettle and plating up Missy’s sandwich from the deli. With great practice, he cut the sandwich into the triangle shapes Missy preferred. He never saw the Doctor act like this with anyone but her and he’d seen many a snivelling student that could have done with some more compassion. Missy’s eyebrows knitted together, and her smirk faltered- the Doctor had his serious face on. The cyborg watched as Missy tried to understand the Doctor’s mood and pre-empt what was coming, he sighed realising the guidance the Time Lady so often needed on reading emotions. Nardole continued to observe the scene silently, catching Missy’s anxiousness spike and quickly disappear under a mask of indifference. 

Nardole tutted under his breath as the Doctor moved forward and tenderly pushed Missy’s hair back. Missy sank into the touch, smiling soppily as he stroked her cheek with his thumb. The Doctor was dragging this out, confusing Missy’s already jumbled understanding of emotions. It was going to make it even harder when he delivered the news. 

“What are you painting?” The Doctor asked, looking down at the canvas. 

Nardole scoffed and pulled a face at the scene. If he’d let the Doctor come down here alone, he would never have told Missy he’d be going away for a week. He would have disappeared and left Nardole to pick up the pieces. 

“Doctor, don’t you have something to tell Missy?” He prompted. 

“In a minute,” the Doctor shot back without turning away from Missy. “What are you painting, Missy?”

Missy bit her lip, sensing something out of place. The Doctor watched shaking his head and trying to calm her worries, his face creased as her eyes widened in anxiousness. For someone who claimed to thrive on chaos, Missy never reacted well to the prospect of having her routine changed. 

Perhaps he was making it harder than it had to be. 

“A painting, Doctor” she replied simply, eyes narrowing. “What…Why is the egg being weirder than normal? Doctor what’s happening?”

“Charming,” Nardole snorted. “Quite how I’m the weird one here, I don’t know.”

“Doctor, I don’t like this. Please tell me what’s wrong.” Missy stated, ignoring Nardole’s rambling.

“Nothing’s wrong Missy. Look, this is being blown out of proportion I just wanted to tell you I have to go away for a week. It doesn’t matter where, I’ll be back before you know it and Nardole will look after you.”

“Oh,” Missy commented. Nardole and the Doctor held their breath like parents that had just taken away their child’s comfort blanket. “Is that it? You are a pair of drama queens.”

The Doctor broke into a grin, sighing in relief. Nardole remained less convinced. 

“That’s not what you were saying last time he went away. In fact, I couldn’t hear what you were saying through the tears and then the projectiles that were being thrown at me.”

Missy batted him away and returned to her painting. 

Nardole looked at the Doctor pointedly, the Time Lord just batted him away too. 

“That was ages ago. Missy will be fine, I know she will.”

Nardole shook his head and bit back a retort, pushing the sandwiches across the table. 

“Eat your supper, Missy.”

XXXXXXXX

“I’m off now, Missy” the Doctor shouted over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a week. Nardole’s here and he’ll tell me how you’ve behaved. Remember, how you behave will depend on whether you get those gifts you want.”

“Ah,” Nardole commented. “I must have missed the moment the self-professed Queen of Evil became a child.” 

The Doctor rolled his eyes at Nardole’s comment, as he turned his back he missed Missy’s anxious glance. The Cyborg frowned and vowed to go back down there as soon as the Doctor had left. 

XXXXXXXX  
Three hours after the Doctor had left, Nardole makes it down to the Vault. He wasn’t the Doctor- he saw no need to spoil the Time Lady and head down there straight away to indulge her fancies. He did, however, still have a soft spot for her. After several decades caring for her- what else could he call it- he knew when she needed a little bit of attention. When he enters the Vault, Missy’s still hunched over the table and enthralled by her painting. 

“I don’t like you being left with all this stuff,” Nardole said, shuffling in and sitting down opposite Missy. “He might trust you, but he’s blinkered. Anyway, you’ve been painting all day. It’s time to stop now.”

Missy scowled up at him, threw her paintbrush down and glared at him as it bounced off the table and into the corner of the kitchen.  
“Well that was very silly of you,” Nardole sighed, unflinching. “Now, green tea or blueberry tea before bed.”

“You’re not in charge of me.”

Nardole shook his head and chuckled at her words- she couldn’t sound anymore like a teenager if she tried. 

“Quite the opposite, Miss Missy” Nardole sang. “We all know I’m Time Lord Tamer. You’re having green tea. Now, get into your pyjamas and get settled in bed- if you do it without a fuss, you can watch a film in bed.”

“Well aren’t I the lucky one?” Missy drawled, getting up and following the cyborg’s orders despite her sarcasm. “You know, I’m an evil megalomaniac. I could kill you and runaway and take over half the galaxy before you even started the sodding film.”

“Yes, yes” Nardole sighed, entertaining her ramblings. “But I know you like your sandwiches cut into triangles and lavender bath salts in you morning bath and I know you really want to watch the film on singing cats.All of those are things I wouldn’t imagine an evil megalomaniac would want getting out.”  
Missy rolled her eyes and disappeared into the bathroom, shooting back an impressed “touche.”

XXXXXXXX  
As the film ends, Missy still isn’t asleep. 

“Let me go back to my painting,” she demands for the fiftieth time from inside the containment field. “At least let me out of this silly cage- the Doctor does!”

“I’m not the Doctor,” Nardole states. “Missy- no, Missy, get back under the covers.”

“I don’t want to sleep. The Doctor doesn’t make me sleep every night anymore.”

“Yes- he does,” Nardole retorted. “And I know because I made the rota.”

Missy huffed and returned to her bed.  
“You’re a sad little egg.”

“That may be, but you’re still going to bed. I’ll be back in the morning with your breakfast.” 

XXXXXXXX  
It’s four days into the Doctor’s week away when things become difficult. 

After a four-hour meltdown, Nardole and Missy are sat in the bathroom. Nardole tends to Missy’s bloodied hands, tutting at the array of fresh scratches.

“Why did you break everything, Missy?”

It’s the fifth time Nardole’s asked the Time Lady- he’s yet to have an answer. This time, there’s no luck either.

“When’s the Doctor back?”

It’s not an answer but it may as well be. 

“Three more days. He’ll be back in three sleeps.”

“I could have escaped, you know. I could have got out and I don’t think he even cares.”

“He does care. Hold still, this will sting” Nardole warned as he poured antiseptic over her cuts. Missy flinched a bit but kept her face closely guarded. “Would you really want to escape, Missy? You’ve been making rea progress here.”

“If I escaped, I don’t know how I’d be in the outside. It’s been a long time, there was Skaro and then the other place and then I was here.” 

“You weren’t doing that brilliantly on the outside before all that, Missy. You just couldn’t see it.” 

Missy didn’t reply, and they returned to silence.

XXXXXXXX  
“My tower’s the best,” Missy chirped, admiring her tower of marshmallows and cocktail sticks. 

Nardole’s idea to entertain the Time Lady for the last few hours before the Doctor returned had gone down well. 

“Well, I suppose it’s a very fine tower,” the cyborg conceded glancing at his watch. He’d tried to be subtle, but Missy had noticed. 

“What time is it?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“The Doctor’s back soon?”

“He’ll be back tonight, maybe tomorrow morning. I think it’ll pass quicker if you try and go to sleep.”

Missy considered his suggestion and reluctantly agreed- she was a bit tired.  
“Okay. Will you please stay until I go to sleep?”

“Yes, I’ve got some cleaning to do anyway.”

XXXXXXXX  
“Hello, Nardole.”  
The Doctor’s back on the day he promised, but it’s late. He has bags of presents and a grin as wide as his face. 

“Yes, yes. I’m over here.”

“I’m back!”

“Time Lords are rather good at stating the obvious.”

The Doctor rolls his eyes and settles into his chair. 

“Any problems?”

“Missy’s okay. If that’s what you mean”. Nardole chews his bottom lip and considers his next words carefully. “You can’t just swan off again, though. I didn’t tell her you’d gone to re-visit one of your old companion’s weddings and meet their kid but I won’t cover again. It’s not fair.”

“Did something happen, Nardole? You were perfectly fine with the arrangements before.”

“It’s not fair on Missy!” Nardole exclaimed. “She needs stability, not you disappearing and returning with gifts and empty promises.” 

The Doctor fumbled for a response and bowed his head in defeat. 

“You’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

XXXXXXXX  
Padding quietly into the Vault, the Doctor placed the bags of gifts down quietly and entered the containment field. Missy snored and rolled over under her covers. Sitting on the empty side of the bed, the Doctor sighed at her bandaged hand and ran his fingers across it. The touch stirred Missy and she awoke with a start.

“Shh, shh. Go back to sleep.”

“Doctor,” Missy smiled with a yawn. “You’re home.”

“Home,” the Doctor laughed. “What happened to your hand?”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too but what happened to your hand?”

“I got angry because I missed you. We made a marshmallow tower!”

“Missy, you shouldn’t do that” he chides lightly. “A marshmallow tower?”

Missy nods, yawns and nods again.

“Go back to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Missy nods and spies the haul of gifts in the corner. 

“For me?”

“Yes, you can have them in the morning.”

“Nardole thinks you spoil me.”

“He’s right.”

“Did you enjoy the wedding?”

The Doctor jolts in shock and looks down guiltily. 

“How did you know?”

“Don’t forget who I am, dear. We both know I have my ways. Please don’t insult me by lying again.”

“I didn’t lie. I didn’t say anything,” the Doctor sighed and Missy made an odd noise. 

“I’m going to sleep. I’m glad you’re back.”


	17. New Years, New Pledges

The Christmas lights were still twinkling when the Doctor entered the Vault with an empty cardboard box. As he entered the sparse living area, a bright light from the summer sunshine lit up the room further. It was odd, to the Doctor who was accustomed to Christmas on Earth’s western hemisphere, to celebrate the festivities in midsummer. It was needed, however, to keep Missy unaware of the actual time of year. Talking of the Time Lady, she was currently sat by her favourite spot in the Vault at the time of their Christmas- the corner by the Christmas tree. In her arms, she clasped her favourite present of the year. The Doctor had been reluctant to gift her the porcelain baby doll, unsure of the memories it might stir. So far, it had caused no problem. 

 

“We’re taking the decorations down today, Missy. Our Christmas is over.” 

 

“I don’t want it to be over.”

 

“We’ve had this discussion every year, Missy, things have to end.” 

 

“No, they don’t. We have time machines.” 

 

“That’s not the same thing, Missy. Why are you being difficult- have you had too much sugar again?”

 

Missy turned, an argumentative smirk on her face as she observed the Doctor. Eyes scanning up and down his form, she nodded at his jumper. 

 

“You like your present then?” She asked of the red jumper. “I chose it from the catalogue Nardole brought down. I wanted to buy you some cigars from Xcervir but the egg said he wouldn’t go there.”

 

“It’s a war-torn planet, Missy. There’s an intergalactic blockade.”

 

“They do the best cigars though,” Missy shrugged, turning around to face him excitedly. “So, do you like the jumper or not?”

 

“I like the jumper. It was very thoughtful, Missy.”

 

Missy beamed and preened under the compliments. 

 

“Better than the cyber-army?” 

 

“You know the answer to that, Missy.” 

 

Placing the box down, the Doctor started to take down the baubles and lights for another year. Missy tutted but soon went back to tending to her new doll. The Doctor sighed at the sight, remembering a night on Gallifrey over a thousand years before. The cradled daughter had been more real than the doll but somehow more still. Putting the last Christmas decoration in the box, he turned his attention to Missy and joined her on the sofa.

 

“You never help me put away the decorations.”

 

“It’s sad,” Missy hummed and distractedly stroked her doll’s face. “When it’s over, it’s really sad.”

 

“It’s not over forever. Anyway, Missy, I thought you’d think it was a stupid human holiday.”

 

“Yes, you’re right.”

 

The Doctor nods and watches Missy rocking the doll back and forth. He’s bombarded with memories once more of the night Missy had given birth. Inhaling, he tentatively reached out and stroked Missy’s hair. 

 

“Do you remember your baby, Missy?” 

 

It’s said quickly, before he could stop the words from tumbling out. For a moment, he’s quiet and hopes Missy hadn’t heard his careless question. The way her body tenses and rocking stops tells him she’s heard. 

 

“I sometimes think I remember,” she replies. Deadly still, she the Doctor watches her jaw lock and sees her blink back tears. “But then I remember that I only remember her dead. When I woke up, she was dead.”

 

“Yes, she was.”

 

“A while ago, you asked me what I thought the worst thing I’d ever done was,” Missy states thoughtfully. “I know now. That was it, getting pregnant and having her was the worst thing I ever did.”

 

The Doctor’s face darkens in anguish and he shakes himself, watching in bewilderment as Missy stands and walks over towards the containment field. She’s placed the doll on the sofa and picked up Yana in its place. 

 

“That, Missy, that’s not what I meant,” he stutters. “Why are you going in there?”

 

“I’m feeling on edge. I’d like to be alone please.” 

 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Missy.”

 

“It’s a good idea if you don’t want a black eye,” Missy snarled and approached the edge of the containment field. To the Doctor’s surprise, she activated the shields herself. “I’m trying to restrain myself, that’s what you wanted.”

 

“You’re feeling angry, that’s how you’re feeling isn’t it?” 

 

“That’s the one when I want to hurt people because it’s unfair?” 

 

“Yes, yes if that is how you want to see it. Your baby’s death was very unfair Missy.”

 

Missy looked back at him startled and nodded, swallowing back tears. 

 

“I would have loved her. I know I’m not good at many things and I know I’m not good at loving but I would have loved her so much.”

 

“You do love her Missy, even though she’s not here, you still love her.” 

 

“Yes, but it’s not the same. Doctor, please could you leave me alone for ten minutes- just ten.” 

 

“Okay. But, I’ll be back as soon as those ten minutes are over.”

 

The Doctor sighs as he watches Missy hand idly wander to her neck in search of something that wasn’t there. He follows her eye line as it drifts over to the discarded doll. 

 

“And I’ll leave your doll with you.”

XXXXXXXX

 

The Doctor returns nine and a half minutes later and enters without knocking. 

 

“You’re early,” Missy comments. She looks notably calmer and has returned to cradling her doll.

 

“I am.” 

 

“That’s okay, I’m feeling much better now. You’re safe.” 

 

“Come and join me on the sofa?”

 

Missy does, bringing the doll with her. 

 

“I thought you might want to have this,” the Doctor offers and passes Missy a small box containing her brooch. “While you’re feeling nostalgic. I’ll have to take it when I leave, though, I know you can kill daleks with that thing.” 

 

Missy takes the brooch, evidently grateful as she opens it up and glances at the faded image of her daughter. Placing a chaste kiss to the image she looks up at the Doctor and he can see she has a question on her lips. 

 

“What is it?” 

 

“You made Yana life like,” she whispers and looks down at the doll. The Doctor gulps, knowing what is coming next. “You could make…”

 

“Don’t ask me that Missy, I’m not going to do that to your sanity.” 

 

“My sanity is already…”

 

“It’s already getting better, Missy. This will set you back and I wouldn’t be your friend if I did that to you.” 

 

Missy looks momentarily crestfallen, but blinks away her disappointment. 

 

“I suppose you’re right.” 

 

“Please don’t be upset. Was the doll a mistake Missy?”

 

“No,” she shakes her head. “I love her. Doctor, can you tell me the story of when she was born?”

 

“You were there.”

 

“I don’t remember.”

 

“It was three am, when I was called to the outhouse…” 

 

The Doctor starts and completes the well-told story in just under an hour. When he finishes, he looks over at Missy. It’s the first time in centuries that he’d been able to complete the story without Missy breaking down in hysterics. Instead, the Time Lady is stroking the doll and laying very still. 

 

“You want me to stop there?”

 

“We both know how it ends. I go off the rails and you spend decades trying to get me back on them.”

 

“That means you want me to stop,” the Doctor sighs. “You okay?”

 

“I’m okay. It’s quite good to go over it. It’s that word you keep using.”

 

“Therapeutic?”

 

“Yes, that one.” 

 

“Maybe in the New Year we can start talking about some of your more recent traumas. What do you think?”

 

“The ones in the prison?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You know I know it’s summer, not New Year.”

 

“I know, but at least try and play along.”

 

“When we have our cake and therapy day, I’ll talk about it then.” 

 

“Okay.”

 

“Can we have a game of cards before bed. And then a different kind of story- the one where we go to the stars.”

 

“That’s my favourite story.”


	18. Challenging Change

Missy’s forefinger twitched, and she tapped the chipped edge of the wooden table. 

 

Sighing, she looked down at the psychic message she’d sent the Doctor, wishing there was a way to tell if he’d read it or not and resenting the fact that he’d disabled that feature since her mental abilities were recovering. 

 

Tapping with a greater urgency, she started to whistle as she re-read the list. 

 

‘There’s something wrong with the Vault- you need to come down. I’m also out of washing up liquid and my sheets need to be changed. Come now.’ 

 

It was a perfectly acceptable request, and really, Missy couldn’t understand why the Doctor hadn’t responded already. 

 

It had been a full five minutes.

 

Pushing a stay curl behind her ear, Missy looked down at the porcelain doll in her lap and adjusted its sunhat with a small smile. She briefly considered talking to the doll, but resigned herself to the fact that she really wasn’t feeling all that mad today. She certainly didn’t have an audience for her throwaway madness. All she had was that growing sense of dread that she was losing who she was and that she’d been moulded into the Doctor’s very own living doll that he was bound to grow bored of any minute. It was the type of dread that made her chest heavy and arms tingly and then made her want to throw something or snap somebody’s neck. 

 

Glancing back at her message, she noted six and a half minutes has passed. 

 

He had ten and she’d have to take some drastic action. 

 

XXXXXXXX

It’s the end of summer when the Academy starts up again for the new term. Later in life, when the Time Lord in training that is known as Theta has become the Doctor, he will ponder on how this is the same as so many other planets. Gallifrey isn’t as different as it tries to be, its neither better or worse than the other floating rocks with living organisms; its just the same with all its flaws and beauties. 

 

Talking of flaws and beauties, Theta’s attention returned once more to the search for his best friend. Looking past the pint-sized first years, dressed in the finest new robes he heads for the final years’ lounge wondering if Koschei might have headed their first in search of the best ghmdser coffee that the campus had to offer. 

 

Both boys would be needing a lot of that to get through their final year. 

 

Summer had been strange for Theta Sigma in the way that returning to the villages always had been. He loved seeing his mother and cousins but missed the opportunities that sprang from being in the beating heart of the citadel. Most of all, though, he missed Koschei. The boys had been able to spend the first half of their summer together, spending long days out in the fields and on the mountains and in each other’s beds, but Koschei had disappeared for the second half. He’d gone off on an exclusive excursion that had been organised for the students from the most respectable families. With Koschei’s father’s influence in the citadel, there was no way the young Time Lord wouldn’t be in attendance. 

 

Entering the seniors’ lounge, Theta looked around hopefully but was met with just an empty room and chairs. Grumbling to himself, Theta allowed walked over to the kitchen are and began making himself a coffee. Just as he was pouring the blue-tinged liquid into a mug, he felt two cold hands cover his eyes. 

 

“Guess who?”

 

A cool breath made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It was a soft, female voice he didn’t recognise but that didn’t mean he didn’t know exactly who it was. The soft, warm familiar buzz started up in the back of his mind and pit of his stomach.

 

“Koschei!”

 

Spinning on his heels, his eyes widened comically as his face distorted into a look of bewilderment. The Time Lord in front of him couldn’t be more different from the Time Lord he’d left at the beginning of summer. He was now she, and had lost even more height (something she couldn’t really afford to lose). Raven locks fell down her back and her skin was smooth and pale. Her icy blue eyes, however, were identical to her old pair. Theta was momentarily mesmorised by his friend, too mesmorised to realise what had happened and then it hit him. Regeneration.

 

“Spoil sport,” Koschei trilled and let out a sigh, spinning to show off her new body. “So what do you think?”

 

“You regenerated?”

 

“No,” Koschei deadpanned. “I got a haircut.”

 

“You died. What happened?”

 

“You’re so dramatic. I regenerated, no biggie.”

 

“It kind of is,” Theta shot back. “There’s only been a handful of regenerations before graduation age.”

 

“I know,” Koschei replied with a smile. “Now I’m one of them. So tell me, how was your summer- dreadfully boring without me?”

 

XXXXXXXX

“What the hell, Missy?”

 

The Doctor had expected some level of destruction when he entered the Vault, having been told as much by the flurry of psychic messages he’d received in quick succession. He hadn’t quite expected this level of destruction, though. The kitchen table was no more and neither were several of the chairs. Missy sat in the middle of the debris staring back at the Doctor like a feral animal. Her mouth opened and closed a few times before suddenly, very quietly, she asked “who am I, Doctor?” 

 

The Doctor glared, but softened slightly when he realised she was being serious.

 

“What?” He asked, offering her his hand and helping her up. “What could you possibly mean?” 

 

“I don’t think I could be any clearer.”

 

“You’re Missy. The Time Lady and my friend,” the Doctor replied and guided her to the still in one piece seating area. “What’s wrong with you?”

 

“I’m not having a moment, if that’s what you think” 

 

Looking around at the destruction, the Doctor disagreed. He said nothing. 

 

“Why didn’t you come straight away?”

 

“I came as soon as I could.”

 

Missy turned away, sulking. 

 

“What did you want?”

 

“Shower gel and toothpaste.”

 

“Your note said washing up liquid and clean sheets,” the Doctor reminded. “Which I found rather odd, given you don’t do the washing up.”

 

Missy looked down, caught out. 

 

“I wanted you, okay? I was panicking and you weren’t here.”

 

“What were you panicking about?”

 

“About not being me!”

 

The Doctor sighed in exasperation. Change was always going to be hard for her- hard for the pair of them. 

 

“You’re always you to me Kos,” the Doctor offered sadly. “I’ve told you before it was the last few centuries that I didn’t recognise you.”

 

Missy sniffed but didn’t reply to that.

 

“I get bored down here. Now I’m getting better, can’t you let me out a little bit more?”

 

The Doctor shook his head, “You know I can’t do that.”

 

Missy launched at him, smacking him against his chest. 

 

“And that’s why I can’t” he sighed sadly. “The first time you don’t get what you want, and you lash out. I’m going to clean your mess up. Again.”

 

“You’re staying though?”

 

“Yes, I’m staying.”


	19. Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy knows something's different and it makes her anxious. 
> 
> The Doctor knows something needs to be done before its too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small chapter leading into a bigger story line in the next two chapters.

In the Vault, it was still impossible for Missy to tell when it was. It was, however, getting easier to understand the routines of her guardians and that made it easier to get a bearing on the passing of time. Not only this, Missy could also gauge when it was (in the small sense of what day of the week it was, rather than what decade they were in) by the Doctor’s mood. Tonight, as they sat playing a game of scrabble, Missy could tell it was her least favourite night of the week. 

 

The Doctor had that serious look on his face as his placed each letter tile down, it wasn’t a look of concentration and it clouded the atmosphere of the whole room. It was a look of someone apprehensive and Missy knew from experience he was apprehensive about leaving her. While apprehension was all that showed on his face, Missy could sense the excitement that was pooling in his stomach- it was in anticipation for being able to leave the confines of the Vault and engage with some semblance of normality. He could forget about his Time Lady shaped burden and teach lectures, catch up with colleagues and carry on pretending he was human. 

 

All this meant one thing: it was the eve of the new working week. 

 

His excitement and apprehension mixed together, making a horrible mixture of conflicted emotions that made the whole process much worse for Missy. It’s a wonder if the Time Lord had ever felt anything other than conflicted, Missy idly thought as she watched her friend’s spidery hands spell out the word ‘dinosaur.’ Looking down at her own tiles, she picked up a handful and spelled out the Martian word for ‘library.’ The Doctor scowled briefly, no doubt considering reminding Missy that their rules allowed Earth languages only, but instantly returned to his apprehensive brooding. 

 

His moods were laughably predictable and the most accurate form of tracking time that she had. 

 

Something felt different this week, though, the apprehension was heightened, and Missy couldn’t tell whether it was just the Doctor’s anxieties or whether some of her own were intermingling. She hated the nights before the start of the new week, as well. It was always hard after having his mainly undivided attention for two or three days to go back to having it sparingly- fitted in around meetings and lectures and marking for the remainder of the week. Subconsciously, the Time Lady found herself stroking her neck at the sudden rise in her temperature. She felt a flush rise and crawl up her skin and it made her gentle stroking turn to scratching. Her throat felt like it was closing, and she felt a familiar pressure in her chest. 

 

Was she coming out in a rash? She idly wondered, pulling at her blouse as she tried to cool down. Getting one of the silly human illnesses, perhaps. 

 

It wouldn’t be that surprising, decades on Earth and she was bound to pick up the odd germ or two. 

 

No, no. It wasn’t an illness, she reminded herself. It was the idiot sat in front of her. He was anxious about…about the week ahead. Yes, it was absolutely his runaway emotions playing havoc with hers. He really could be a selfish bugger at times. 

 

“Missy.”

 

She heard her name being called in the distance and struggled to focus. 

 

Digging her nails into her the pale skin on her neck, Missy clawed at her skin. Blood came away on her fingers and she felt like she was suffocating. 

 

Before she realised what was happening, she felt a hand on her wrist. 

 

“Missy,” the voice called again. “You need to stop that.”

 

XXXXXXXX

 

The Doctor had noticed something was wrong when she misspelled ‘library’ in Martian. 

 

She’d been quiet since mid-afternoon- when she’d woken up from an unexpected nap in a subdued mood. She’d been convinced he had some bad news to share with her and that it was him that was apprehensive and in a bad mood. 

 

The panic attack had been building all evening and the game of scrabble had done nothing to still her nerves. The Doctor had been hoping that she would manage to calm herself done in the way she’d started to manage to in the last few years. When she started causing herself physical harm, though, he had to put a stop to it. 

 

“Missy,” he said firmly. 

 

When he received no response, he tried again. This time he reached out and tried to provide a physical grounding, wrapping his hand around her wrist. 

 

“Missy,” he said more firmly. “You need to stop that.”

 

The Time Lady looked down at her wrist and back up at the Doctor. The Doctor pressed his thumb firmly against her wrist, drawing firm circles and grounding her. Eventually, her ragged and erratic breathing levelled out. The Doctor watched as she took long, deep breaths. She licked her lips, they were dry and cracked. He watched her dry swallow and retrieved a glass of water, placing it in front of Missy and retaking her hand as she went to start scratching again. Missy looked at the water and blinked, staring back at the Doctor in confusion. 

 

“Have a glass of water, Missy” he advised as he pushed the glass towards her. Tentatively, she picked up the glass and sipped. “Small sips, that’s it. Well done.” 

 

After a silence that felt like it had lasted hours, but, had been seconds, Missy spoke. 

 

“You’re projecting,” she said accusingly. “I can tell you’re apprehensive and you’re bringing all your negative energy into my Vault! It’s not fair!”

 

“Missy,” the Doctor sighed. “It’s not me that’s apprehensive. You’ve been worked up all afternoon. Ever since you woke up, you’ve been on edge. Did you have a nightmare?” 

 

“I…” Missy paused and looked down. “Something bad is about to happen. I can feel it.”

 

“You’ve never been psychic Missy,” the Doctor tutted. “Nothing bad is going to happen and even if it did, you are safe in here.” 

 

“No one is ever completely safe,” Missy corrected. “Not you and not me, so you can’t promise me that. It’s the last day that you spend all day with me for a while, isn’t it?”

 

“I have lectures tomorrow,” the Doctor nodded with a frown. “Is that why you’re anxious- I thought you’d got over me being away for a bit?”

 

“Something’s different this time. Where’s the egg?”

 

The Doctor looked up and swallowed. Maybe she could sense when something was different.

 

“Well, actually, you are right about something being different this week. Nardole’s gone on holiday, something about a reunion with some friends on the black market. I chose not to ask too many questions.”

 

“Ah. It’s The Dark Beings’ Convention Week. Like ComicCon for the universe’s top criminals. It’s always a right ball.” 

 

She was calmer now, as though some of her unease had left her now she knew what was different in her routine. 

 

“That’s actually a thing?” The Doctor gawped. “You really do enjoy living up to stereotypes.” 

 

He’s teasing, relieved to see the colour returning to her cheeks. 

 

“Yes, it’s a thing. I was guest of honour for several centuries. Dinners, dances and ceremonies- it was splendid,” Missy sighed. A reminiscent smile ghosting her features as her shaky hands reached for the glass again. “I’ve lost so much being in here. With you, and your ideas on goodness.” 

 

The Doctor felt a pang of pain run through his core at her cold accusation. Standing up, he began to tidy up the board game. 

 

“Is that how you feel? That you’ve lost time? I never made you agree to this. It was you that was begging me to save you and be your friend again.” 

 

Missy looked down and even managed to look a bit embarrassed. The hand holding the glass started to shake again and the Doctor could tell it was a genuine reaction. 

 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Missy said in a hushed whisper. “I just meant I sometimes miss my old life. I’m allowed to miss it- just like you are. I know you miss travelling around and saving the day.” 

 

“Yes,” the Doctor nodded. “Yes, you’re right. Thank you for apologising.” 

 

They fell into an uneasy silence, Missy struggling to control her breathing as the Doctor watched on. He was concerned by her obvious distress- unsure why she was becoming so unstable again. Missy looked up at the Doctor wordlessly, mouth opening as she went to say something but couldn’t find the words. The Doctor frowned, and took a seat next to her. Placing one hand on her back and grasping her hand with the other. 

 

“I’m not making this up. I’m not play acting,” Missy managed to say after a few minutes. 

 

“I know that,” the Doctor reassured. “I can always tell the difference. Is it a bad day, Missy?” 

 

It was obvious that it was a bad day. A full-blown panic attack didn’t happen on her good days. 

 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It just feels like something bad is going to happen, I think its because the routine is different. I don’t seem to like change anymore.”

 

“No one ever really likes change, Missy” the Doctor said. “This is only a temporary change.” 

 

Missy clenched and unclenched her fist. 

 

“Can I see the guinea pigs?” She asked quietly. “I want to feel their soft fur.”

 

The Doctor looked at her knuckles turning white and shook his head. 

 

“How about Yana first?” 

 

Missy turned to face him, her pale face looking momentarily hurt. He knew she took comfort in the small pets but also knew how temperamental she could be when she was in the kind of a mood. It would only take a second for her to relapse and take comfort in her old pastime of murder. 

 

“Okay. Yana.”

 

“I’m going to get him,” the Doctor said before disappearing into Missy’s bedroom and retrieving the toy cat. 

 

He was back at Missy’s side in seconds, observing the way the Time Lady’s entire being was shaking with pent up…Pent up something. He wasn’t sure if it was pent up anxiety or anger or sadness or fear. Either way, he could see she was about to explode. 

 

“We’re back,” the Doctor said. “Let’s go and sit on the sofa. Come on.”

 

Leading the Time Lady to the sitting area, the Doctor eased her down and placed Yana in her lap. He watched as she stroked and tugged at the fur with far more strength than she would have been able to do with a living being. The sensation of Yana’s fur and the repetitiveness of the stroking settled Missy, and she eventually closed her eyes and rested against his shoulder. 

 

He thought she’d given into sleep when he heard her sleepily speak. 

 

“Don’t you have to go tonight for your early lecture?” 

 

“No, I’ve got time. I am a Time Lord after all.”

 

“Is that supposed to be a joke? It’s not funny.”

 

“I’ve got a tough crowd,” the Doctor stated. Pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “How are you feeling?” 

 

“Tired. Being this emotional is exhausting- it was better when I didn’t have emotions.”

 

“You’ve always had emotions. More than you knew what to do with.” 

 

Missy didn’t respond to this. Instead, she titled her head up to look at him with wide eyes. She looked unbearably young and indescribably ancient at the same time. 

 

“Try and get some sleep, Kos.” 

 

The Time Lady obliged, closing her eyes and falling to sleep in a matter of seconds. 

 

The Doctor looked up at the ceiling and let out a low, troubled sigh. He couldn’t let this level of distress continue. All this because she’d sensed her week’s routine was going to be altered temporarily. Missy snuffled in her sleep and reached for his shirt, clenching it tightly and she mumbled to herself. 

 

“It’s okay,” the Doctor cooed. “We’re going to find a way to stop this.”


	20. Comforts and Criminals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Missy's moods fluctuate, Nardole finds something troubling at his convention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of a wider storyline. Feedback appreciated.

This year’s Dark Beings’ Convention Week had turned out better than the other previous two years, Nardole found himself thinking as he made his way back to his cabin in first class. The venue was superb- a deluxe liner cruising along the golden salt lakes of Lynvidn. A seemingly endless mountain range stood strong and steady on either side of the lakes. The planet’s setting suns caused a low purple haze to surround the ship. An ambient, jolly mood filled every corner of the ship. It was a misleading mood- given the overall character of the convention delegates. Still, Nardole hadn’t always been of the best character and some of the delegates had been very good friends- despite their misdeeds. 

 

As Nardole turned the final corner on the journey to his room, the smoky drawing room caught his attention. It wasn’t the dramatic and predictable aesthetic that caught the cyborg’s attention- the evil had a flair for the dramatic. Rather, it was the conversation that was taking place. 

 

“The Mistress?” A lisp-laced voice questioned. “I heard she’d been missing- completely vanished with no trace for decades. Earth decades, that is.” 

 

Nardole stopped in his tracks and turned on his heels. Head tilted, he waited with baited breath to hear the response. Of course, at the convention where Missy had been Guest of Honour for so many years, rumours surrounding her disappearance had been rife. The cyborg had heard everything- she’d died, she’d regenerated, she was in prison on Gallifrey, she was impersonating the rightful heir to the Gelad throne. So far, Nardole had heard no correct guesses but he had a few amusing accusations to take back to the Doctor. If Missy was in the right type of mood, she might even get a kick out of it. 

 

“I have no interest in whatever has happened to that monster,” a cold and sterner voice replied. It took something for someone to be labelled a monster by a being attending this convention. “We all know the other meddling Time Lord will have something to do with it. Anyway, I have something that may be of interest to anyone that’s ever been slighted by that creature.” 

 

That development caught Nardole’s attention and he took several steps towards the room. Eyes narrowed on the occupants of the room, he watched the various humanoids and reptilians lean in and observe a platinum folder with Gallifreyan and another alien language engraved on the front. 

 

“What is that?” Nardole asked unable to stifle his curiosity. 

 

The array of delegates turned back and eyed the cyborg suspiciously. 

 

“What are you?” The humanoid with one eye that was grasping the folder spat. “This is for top-clearance delegates only.” 

 

Nardole nodded and flashed the psychic paper the Doctor had lent him. After a few exchanged whispers, the guests sat at the table gave in and motioned for the cyborg to enter the room. 

 

“Now, I’ll ask again,” he said as he nodded at the folder. The usual kindness an\d uncertainty was removed from his voice and replaced with an icy authority. “What is that?”

 

“This is a report detailing results from a major experimentation into the Mistress’ weaknesses and susceptibility to different…tactics.”

 

The room descended into excitable whispering, some delegates sending out external communication to senior bosses and investment advisers. Nardole took a seat closest to the man in possession of the folder. His eyebrows knitted together in concentration and he recognised the Gallifreyan letters spelling out Missy’s name. Not Missy or the Mistress or the Master or even Koschei, her true Gallifreyan name that he’d heard the Doctor whisper to Missy at night or when she was crying and shaking or when she was becoming unresponsive and shutting down. Instinctively, Nardole held his hand out before dropping it quickly. He didn’t know what he was planning on doing, but he knew he couldn’t let that folder fall into the wrong hands. 

 

“Experimentation?” Nardole scoffed. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

 

The so-called experimentation was most likely the relentless torture that haunted the Time Lady’s days in the Vault. He thought back to Missy’s tearful and rare accounts of what had happened before the Vault. He then thought back to the Doctor’s despairing and exhausted face every time he’d finished listening to Missy’s accounts. Or, there were the times that he had walked into the Vault and found the Doctor crying and whispering apologies to the Time Lady as she slept in his arms. 

 

Nardole’s hands clenched and unclenched at his side. The man in possession of the folder smirked and licked his lips. 

 

“Experimentation, torture or taste of her own medicine. It’s all the same really,” he said. Nardole frowned as the man turned back to the other guests. “And it’s on sale to the highest bidder!”

 

XXXXXXXX

 

The Doctor stripped Missy’s bed of the sweat and sick covered bedsheets, throwing them into the washing bin. As he reached for the clean sheets he heard Missy’s heaving echo out of the bathroom. It was followed by a groaning and then a soft crying and then some more heaving. It was the third day that Missy had been plagued by heightened anxiety and the Doctor was no closer to understanding what had set her off. It had been out of the blue- coming at a time when Missy had been doing relatively well and engaging with her rehabilitation. Worse than not knowing what had caused Missy’s moods to destabilise was being no closer to knowing how to help her. Missy had asked for medication- the Doctor cringed as he remembered her begging for pills to “stop the thoughts and voices and help me sleep. Please Thete, I just want to sleep.” He’d given in, but only in the evenings and only to stop her pacing and crying. Still, he wasn’t willing to medicate her the whole time- it felt like too much of a step back and it was never going to fix the root of her problems. 

 

A fresh bout of heaving and groaning and crying from behind the bathroom door distracted the Doctor from his thoughts. 

 

“Missy,” he said softly. “Why don’t you let me in?” 

 

“No,” Missy croaked hoarsely with a voice that was barely there. “I feel icky. I’m going to have a quick shower.”

 

“Okay, sweetheart. I’m going to make your bed and then we can try and eat something.” 

 

Missy didn’t reply, and the silence was filled with the sound of the shower running. The Doctor returned to making the bed, focusing his mind on the simple task rather than worrying over their ongoing situation. 

 

The quick shower lasted longer than a quick shower warranted. The Doctor would have been worried had he not felt Missy’s consciousness relax and calm under the sensation of warm water and soft shower gel. This was a positive sign- she was able to self-soothe. While Missy showered, the Doctor settled in on the bed and pulled out his phone- resuming his search for ways to help lessen the Time Lady’s anxiety. After a few useless articles, his interest was piqued by a link on sensory comforts. The Doctor read with interest about the ways that different sensory products had the ability to calm human moods. He looked over at the guinea pigs and then to Yana and then at the lava lamp on the bedside table, thinking back to the way that the calming lamp and soft fur had calmed Missy on several occasions; he realised that it wasn’t just humans it comforted.

 

Missy left the bathroom, a light blue towel wrapped around her head as she padded across the Vault to the end of the bed. The Doctor looked up and regarded her pale features and tired eyes. Placing his phone on the side, he sat up. 

 

“Hello,” he said quietly. 

 

“Hello,” Missy replied. She tugged at the hem of her top an avoided his gaze. 

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

Missy shrugged and raised a shaking hand up to face, running it over her eyes with a sigh. A few years ago, the Doctor would have had to prompt her to express how she was feeling but he could see she was composing herself and preparing to answer. Smiling, he tried to look encouraging. 

 

“Exhausted,” Missy said honestly. “And a bit,” she paused and rested her hand on her stomach. “A bit on edge and jittery.” 

 

The Doctor nodded and tapped the mattress. Missy sat down and stared at the floating colours of the lava lamp. 

 

“It’s been a draining day, Missy. That lamp’s calming, isn’t it?” He said, trying to gauge how she may react to the idea he’d gained from the article. 

 

Missy nodded.

 

“It makes me feel calm. I watch it sometimes when I can’t sleep.”

 

The Time Lady laid back against the mattress and curled up, eyes still poised on the lamp. The Doctor laid down behind her, wrapping an arm around Missy and kissing the back of her head. 

 

“That’s good. Do you think you can talk about why you’re feeling so anxious?”

 

“I really don’t know,” Missy sighed. Her eyes still followed the lava lamp. “I just don’t know.”

 

He could sense her getting worked up at the fact she couldn’t understand her emotions. 

 

“It’s okay. It’s okay not to understand,” the Doctor consoled. “I have an idea that might help you to calm down. I’ve been reading about sensory comforts, I think they could help you.”

 

“You do?”

 

“I do. We can work on putting together a comfort box tomorrow, if you’d like?” 

 

“I’d like that please. I’m tired now, though. I’m going to try and sleep.”

 

XXXXXXXX

 

The following morning, Missy woke up in much more settled mood. There had been no nightmares and no sickness, and she’d slept almost the whole night. The morning passed to afternoon peacefully, the Doctor and Missy looking through a catalogue of sensory products to decide what could go into Missy’s comfort box. Things had been so settled that the Doctor had been able to leave the Vault and buy some art supplies so that they could make a sensory bottle and collage of different materials. It was late evening by the time they were finishing up and considering making supper when they are joined by Nardole. 

 

“Nardole,” Missy said, rather pleased to see her egg shaped guardian. She did like her routine and though she was loathed to admit it, she had missed him. “We’ve been making a comfort box.”

 

“Missy,” Nardole nodded. He shifted his gaze over to the Doctor, trying to tell him he needed a word in private. “That looks good. You’re looking better, the Doctor told me that you’d been feeling a bit down.” 

 

Missy looked down and nibbled her bottom lip. She considered asking how the convention had been but thought better of it. The Doctor watched Missy, oblivious to the Cyborg trying to get his attention. 

 

“You need to talk to the Doctor, don’t you?” Missy asked eventually. 

 

Nardole nodded and the Doctor looked up. 

 

“Well go on then,” he said. “We’re having dinner soon so spit it out.”

 

“Not here, sir.”

 

“He means in private, dear” Missy trilled as she admired the glittery, purple slime in the bottle. “I’ll be okay.” 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

The Cyborg looked stressed, as though the weight of the universe was on his shoulders. This was serious, he could see that. 

 

“Does someone know she’s here?” The Doctor asked quickly. 

 

“No,” Nardole said as he reached into his bag and retrieved the platinum folder. “You need to read this.” 

 

The Doctor looked down, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. As he read the Gallifreyan title, his eyes widened in horror.

 

“Is this what I think it is?”

 

Nardole nodded. 

 

“Yes, it is sir.”


	21. Rightful Posession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor struggles through the file Nardole brought back from the convention. That is until it falls into the wrong right hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small filler in the bigger story arc. Hope you're all still enjoying it. Let me know what you think.

“What are you going to do with it, sir?” 

Nardole asked as he and the Doctor reached the top of the spiralling staircase and marched towards the Time Lord’s office. Dinner had turned out to be a tense affair- the Doctor too preoccupied by what Nardole had brought home from the convention to fully concentrate on the task of preparing a meal or making small talk with Missy. Fortunately, the Time Lady didn’t seem to notice- or at least pretended not to notice- his preoccupation. Instead, she ate the meal quietly and finished up her comfort box. By the time the Doctor and Nardole were leaving, she’d taken herself off to bed with a book and the reassurance that she could call him if she started to feel bad again. The Time Lord had managed to keep the damning file out of sight of the Time Lady. Though he was unsure what to do with it, he knew he couldn’t let Missy know it existed. Not after how unstable she’d been the last few days.

“Shh,” the Time Lord hissed. “Not here, wait until we’re in the office.” 

In a practiced movement, the Doctor looked around to check they hadn’t been followed and pulled out his keys to the office. He ushered the cyborg in and followed closely behind. Once he was certain they were alone, he placed the platinum file on his desk and glowered up at Nardole. 

“How did you get this?” 

There were several questions to ask but the one that the Doctor had settled on seemed as good as any. 

“There was a poker game at the convention,” Nardole stated. “It was one of the top prizes being gambled by some humanoid from Trefd VI. He…He certainly had some sort of a grudge against Missy.” 

“Trefd VI?” The Doctor questioned. His eyebrows shot up in recognition. “That’s…That was one of the last planets Missy destroyed before she was arrested. I arrived just after she’d left- it was in ruins and I was so angry at the senselessness of it all. She’d gained nothing from its destruction, but she’d murdered billions. Not many survived, those that did fled to the neighbouring planets seeking asylum. There wasn’t one being that hadn’t been effected in some way…”

The Time Lord trailed off, realising why the delegate would have had such a grudge against the Time Lady currently in his care. Not for the first time in her sentence, the Doctor felt his blood boil at the actions of his friend. Bile rose up the back of his throat and he swallowed harshly. Did her horrendous actions warrant her treatment? Of course not. But did that mean he could turn a blind eye to all her wrongdoings? Also, not. 

“Ah,” Nardole sighed as his thought caught up with the Time Lord’s. He rocked on his heels and tried to find something to do with his hands. “That would rather explain the grudge.” 

The Doctor blinked and sighed heavily. 

“It rather would. Have you read any of this?” 

“Only the headings. I’m afraid I don’t have the stomach of a Time Lord. Are you going to tell Missy you have it?”

“Not right now,” the Doctor admitted. “She’s been up most of the last few days- pacing and throwing up. I don’t think now’s a good time.” 

Nardole nodded grimly. 

“I think that’s a good idea. It sounds like it its been intense. Would you like me to do breakfast in the morning?”

“Yes, yes if that’s okay. I’m…” The Doctor paused, standing up. “I’m going to spend a bit of time with the Tardis tonight. I’ve been neglecting her, and I think Missy is settled in for the night.”

The cyborg watched as the Doctor picked up the platinum file and disappeared into the blue box. 

XXXXXXXX  
Weeks pass and the Doctor still hasn’t been able to make it through the entirety of the file. It had become something of an addiction- every free moment between the Vault and lectures was spent scouring the file for as much information as he could on the Time Lady’s missing years between Skaro and the Vault. While the file wasn’t produced by Gallifrey- it had used Gallifreyan technology. There was holographic technology- projecting videos and audios of the torture sessions and experimentation. 

The recordings of Missy’s screams were identical to the ones he’d heard when she dreamt. 

There was a clinical chart of the different experimentations and the way Missy had reacted. As well as records of how she had reacted to physical, emotional and sexual abuse. If the list was to be believed none of these had a big impact- while scarring in their own way, the Time Lady had been able to recover somewhat. It was the psychological torment of her already fractured mental state that had done the real damage. 

Trickery- causing her to see her daughter or Time War Battles or the Doctor had been deemed the most effective. At the end of each experiment, in the conclusion section, his true Gallifreyan name was listed as her biggest weakness. 

It was written confirmation of something he’d long suspected. 

“Doctor,” Missy said loudly, distracting him from his thoughts. “Did you buy my grapefruit like I asked? I did ask nicely.” 

The Time Lady was stood in the kitchen area of the Vault, unpacking the shopping and maintaining a safe distance from where he had his tools sprawled along the floor as he attempted to fix the heaters. She was thriving again- the panic attacks and breakdowns of just a few weeks ago seeming to be a temporary blip in the rehabilitation process. As she stood, dressed down in an oversized jumper and jeans, she looked a far cry from the Mistress he’d been reading about. 

That Mistress was broken and skinny and scarred while this Mistress was glowing and healthy and still scarred but on the way to recovery. He dreaded her response if he were to bring up the file and its content. It would be an unwelcome reminder of a time that was long ago, but still not far enough in the past. 

“It’s in my bag,” the Doctor shouted over his shoulder. He cursed under his breath as a shock of electricity zapped him. “Bloody hell. How did these break again? Were you messing around with them?”

“No,” Missy responded honestly. “It’s because your handiwork is rubbish. You should let me fix them, what’s the worst I can do with a screwdriver?” 

“Do you really want me to answer that?” He asked bluntly. “I think we both know the answer. It’ll be another few decades before you’re allowed near sharp objects.” 

The Doctor heard Missy rustling in his bag, picking out the contents and plopping it on the table. She hummed to herself happily as she emptied each bag. Suddenly it went silent. That was never a good sign concerning the Time Lady. 

Missy took a sharp intake of breath and cooed in appreciation at the shiny file staring back at her from the bottom of the Doctor’s bag. She’d always liked pretty things and was attracted to them like a magpie. 

“Ooh,” she cooed happily. “What’s this pretty wee thing?” 

“What?” The Doctor asked, back still turned to the Time Lady. “I didn’t bring you any presents today so put that idea out of your head.”

“This file,” Missy responded, lifting it from the bag. “It’s not human. Its so shiny and new and I can feel psychic energy thrumming from it. It feels so familiar. Have you been of planet? You naughty boy.”

“Missy,” the Doctor whispered. Sickness pooled in his stomach and he turned around as fast as he could- eyes settling on Missy holding the file. She was holding it upside down, unable to see her name carved on the cover. “Missy, please just put that down.”

Missy quirked an eyebrow at him, smirking. 

“Have you been a naughty boy, Doctor?” She questioned in amusement. “Look at those eyebrows! I haven’t seen them do that since your wee birthday shindig in the graveyard.”

The Doctor didn’t have the energy to correct her on the way she viewed their first encounters in these bodies. Not now, not when what she was holding in her hands had the power to turn her life inside out and wreck all the progress she had made. 

“Missy,” he said marching forward and reaching out for the file. “Just…Just for once in your life do as I say.” 

The Time Lady balked at her friend and snatched the file back, turning it over in her hands. 

“No, I may live in this little box but I’m not your puppet,” she said. “Now, just by your reaction, I can tell this is something you really don’t want me to see and that just makes me want to see it more.”

She’s staring at him, having yet to look down at the front of the file. The Doctor grimaces feeling useless to stop what happens next. Inevitably it happens. Missy looks down, her eyes squint in momentary confusion before widening in horror. She sways, placing her hand on the chair to her left for support. For a moment, she pales, and the Doctor thinks she might collapse or throw up. She does neither and instead curses in the oldest form of Gallifreyan. 

The Vault is silent but for the four beating hearts that echo of the ceiling and walls. 

“Missy, I tried to warn you. I’m sorry but please, give me the file, I don’t want you to see that.”

“No.”

“Missy—”

“No. I said no, and I’m so bloody fed up of people not listening to me when I say no. This is mine, it should belong with me and no one else. All the gruesome details in here happened to me, tell me one good reason why I can’t have it?” 

The Doctor opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Missy before he had the chance. 

“I’ll save you the time, dear, there isn’t a reason. Now, get out.”

“Missy—”

“Get out.” 

There was a fiery passion to the Mistress’ ice blue eyes that the Doctor knew not to ignore. The Time Lord turned around and- with great reluctance- left the Vault. 

As he marched up the stairs her felt a mental scream of distress at the back of his mind. It was loud and real and painful, but only in his mind. 

Looking back, the Vault was silent.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy deals with the aftermath of the file and comes to some realisations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay- work and life has been busy. 
> 
> Also my 3 part story arc is being extended. Hope you all enjoy and feedback is always appreciated.

Missy was sat cross-legged and tensed at the Vault’s table. One hand splayed out next to the platinum folder and the other scrunched in her lap, nails digging into her palm and breaking the soft skin. The Time Lady didn’t notice the droplets of blood that seeped under her nails and instead tried to resolutely look at anything but the platinum folder. It was a futile mission and within seconds her splayed hand was reaching for the folder, fingers tracing over the engraved letters that spelt out her name.

 

Not Missy, or Master or even Koschei. It was _her_ name, the name that only _he_ should know.

 

Her stomach knotted, and she felt a heavy weight of nausea rise through her body and settle in the back of her throat. It made her mouth feel dry and caused her cheeks to tingle. She tried not to let out a physical sign of her distress- holding back the urge to gag; knowing that the Doctor would be just outside the Vault doors. Under her hand, she felt the folder radiate bio-data that was undeniable and familiar. It was all her- her genetic make-up, her memories and her records. On her left thigh, she felt a matching tingle from the bio-data tattoo that still scarred her skin. She hadn’t been reminded of its presence for several regenerations but in a way, she always knew it was there. The file- a file that had fallen into the hands of some cretin- was made with the help of Time Lord technology. It was like files that Gallifreyan officials kept on the species at every stage of life; from birth to death and, in Missy’s case, all the imprisonments and resurrections in between.

 

The Time Lady felt a burning sense of betrayal.

 

She’d long suspected the Time Lords had aided her captors and would-be executioners in some way but having solid evidence brought fresh pain and ripped away the last thread of hope that her own people wouldn’t betray her completely. They’d taken everything from her- her innocence, her daughter, her sanity. And they were still intent on taking more. She didn’t have anything more to give though. Her mind swirled with dark thoughts, each one picking away at the remnants of her sanity. There was too much going on in her mind to pick up on one thought, but the one resounding thought that became prominent was how much she was rejected.

 

Her own people didn’t want her- they didn’t want her when she was well, and they didn’t want her when she was unwell. She’d fought for them in every war and they still didn’t want her. They didn’t want her enough that they were willing to give Time Lord technology to lower species, breaking their own pathetic laws, just to make sure her tortures were as horrific as they could be.

 

The Doctor didn’t really want her. In this body, she’d presented herself to him at every meeting and asked for her help in her own way and he’d rejected her right up until she was on her knees and begging for her life and begging for their friendship. Even then, he’d probably only saved her to save himself from the guilt. And then, he’d locked her away in her Vault like an inconvenience. Hidden away and in the care of Egg man.

 

He didn’t want her either. No, Nardole and the Doctor would both be much happier if she were gone from their lives. The Doctor could find a new stray and Nardole could go back to whatever Nardole did.

 

“Missy,” The Doctor said from the other side of the doors. “Why don’t you let me in? I can feel you hurting, please let me in.”

 

“No,” Missy replied sharply. “You’re not coming in.”

 

He was a good liar, pretending to care when he just cared about his reputation.

 

Missy closed her eyes and winced at the racing thoughts that crossed her mind. She hadn’t felt this muddled in a long time and she hoped she was able to keep her erratic psyche from showing itself to the Doctor.

 

Judging by his next sentence, she’d been unsuccessful.

 

“Missy, whatever your mind is telling you right now, it isn’t true. Can you try and think rationally for me?”

 

Missy hissed a Gallifreyan expletive back, leaving no room for her feelings on the matter.

 

“Okay, just calm down. Please” The Doctor sighed and switched to Gallifreyan. “Have you read the file?”

 

The sick feeling in the pit of Missy’s stomach increased as she realised all this turmoil had been caused by reading the name on the front of the file. What would she be like if she opened the file? A distressed whimper escaped the Time Lady’s lips and she curled up, pressing her forehead against the kitchen table.

 

_The kitchen table in the Vault._

 

It was all so disgusting and domestic, and Missy had had enough.

 

Thirty seconds was all it took for the Time Lady to knock to table over and dart for the door.

 

XXXXXXXX

 

The Doctor rocked back and forth on his heels, poised for a multitude of responses from Missy. His hands itched at his sides, anxious to join his friend and try to provide some comfort as his eyes bore into the Vault door. He shouldn’t have left her- especially not with that file. If he had ended up as a punch bag as she tried to process her emotions, then so be it. From what the Doctor had read in the file, the tortures had been worse than anything he’d seen, and he knew that she’d disassociated herself from the events. There were times, of course, when she knew something bad had happened; but she rarely processed it as actually happening to her. If she read any one of the case studies in that file, she would have to face a harsh reality.

 

After several attempts and rebuttals at communication, the Doctor started to panic.

 

“The Vault is your space, Missy, and I don’t want to intrude but—”

 

Before the Time Lord could finish his sentence, the doors opened, and Missy darted out in a blur. The Doctor had long been prepared for an escape attempt, but he didn’t expect her to be able to literally walk out of the door. Every day, she seemed to give him a reminder to never underestimate her. It was fortunate he’d returned to the Vault after just ten minutes, if he’d still been in his office he dreaded to think where she could have gone and the trouble she could have gotten in to.

 

In any case, he was in the prime position to restrain her as she made her escape. Wrapping two arms around her middle, he held tight as she thrashed and screamed and kicked and punched and spat and bit. He held tight through it all as the violence turned to swearing and the swearing turned to screaming and the screaming turned to crying. He soothed and whispered all the while, hoping that some of his words were reaching Missy. Eventually, Missy stilled in an exhausted heap. The Doctor felt her body slump against his and start to sink to the floor. He held her tight, slowly bending down with her until both Time Lords were in a crumpled heap on the damp concrete.

 

The Doctor kept a firm hold on Missy- not putting it past her to find a second wind and make a run for it again- while Missy rested her chin atop the Doctor’s knee. Her wide eyes scanned the unfamiliar surroundings that existed just outside of her four walls and the Doctor realised she’d probably never seen it or known what the area outside her vault looked like. When they’d brought her in, she’d been unconscious, and she hadn’t been out since.

 

He watched as her wide eyes drank in the new surroundings frantically- memorising every new detail. She looked like a new born, experiencing the world for the first time. In his grip, he felt her start to tremble and the distressing thoughts returned. Placing his hand under her red jumper, he drew small circles in the small of her back and pressed his lips to the top of her head. The Doctor closed his eyes and swallowed, once again he was reminded how easy it was to ruin Missy’s progress.

 

“It’s okay,” he promised, picking up on some of her stray thoughts. “You’re safe here and I want you here. They’re not here and those things aren’t going to happen again.”

 

Missy wasn’t crying or screaming or making a single sound, but she was trembling. Her entire form was shaking in his arms and she looked like an injured animal, immobilised by fear. The Doctor was about to continue with his reassurances when a figure appeared at the top of the stairs, casting a long egg-shaped shadow down the stairwell. The Time Lady’s trembling intensified, and her gaze stared straight up the stairs. The Doctor looked down and tried to reassure her that it would just be Nardole, but she had closed her mind off to him. Light footsteps made their way down the stairs and Nardole appeared in the dimly-lit corridor.

 

“Sir!” Nardole sighed. “What on earth has been going on down here? I just had to convince some students not to call the police- they thought someone was being murdered!”

 

The Cyborg’s eyes fell on the two Time Lords and his mouth fell open, he looked over their shoulders to the opened Vault doors. Just inside the Vault, he could make out a knocked over table and in the far corner he saw the glistening file.

 

“Oh. Has she seen the file?” Nardole asked quietly, voice edged with concern.

 

The Doctor nodded and chanced a look down at Missy. He was about to ask for the Cyborg’s help in getting her back into the Vault when the Time Lady spoke.

 

“I want to go back into the Vault,” she said quietly. “I don’t like it out here.”

 

Nardole and the Doctor exchanged glances- it had long been an unsaid fear that the Time Lady would become too accustomed to life in the Vault and that would, in turn, lead to a new fear of the outside world. They still had over 900 years left in this arrangement, though and that was plenty of time to deal with a dose of agoraphobia.

 

“Let’s go back in the Vault together,” the Doctor said. “How does that sound?”

 

Missy looked up and peered at Nardole and then back at the Doctor. “All of us?”

 

“Yes, miss” Nardole said. “All of us.”

 

The Time Lady nodded and barely moved as the Doctor stood and guided her up. Nardole followed behind the two Time Lords, turning and securely locking the doors upon entering the Vault. As the Doctor sat Missy down on the sofa, Nardole set about cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. It had been years since he’d been met with such destruction in the Vault and he couldn’t help but worry at the implications it had on Missy’s sanity.

 

“I…” Missy started. Her hands clasped at the arm of the sofa and she took deep, shuddering breaths. “I want…I”

 

“What do you want, Missy?” The Doctor coaxed gently. Adding in jest, “tell me. As long as it’s not a tiger or TCE I might say yes.”

 

“That thing,” Missy said vaguely as she gestured with her hands. “That thing from before.”

 

The Doctor looked at her in confusion and tried to decipher what she was asking for.

 

“What thing- Is it Yana?” He attempted to guess.

 

“Not Yana,” Missy shouted in frustration. “The other thing from before when Nardole was away at that thing.”

 

The Doctor frowned at Missy- sometimes she was deliberately vague to meet her own ends. She enjoyed toying and teasing others, but this time her vagueness was out of genuine confusion. His mind scrambled to try and calm her frustrations and figure out what she was asking for. Nardole looked over at the pair, overhearing the conversation.

 

“Do you mean the comfort box?” He asked.

 

It was ridiculous and no one in the wider universe would believe the Time Lady that had enslaved and killed billions would have such an innocent request. But Nardole had been correct in his guess. Missy scrambled to face him, sitting up on her knees and nodding.

 

“Yes, I want what he said,” Missy confirmed.

 

The Doctor stood up and began looking for the requested box, it had been weeks since they’d had to use it and even then; it had mainly been a novelty. In some ways, the Time Lord was proud that Missy had remembered what it was for. As he went about his search, he watched the Time Lady from the corner of his eye and caught sight of the dried blood under her finger nails- the sooner he found the comfort box, the better.

 

“It’s under her bed,” Nardole said. He had just picked up the last of the strewn chairs and was tucking it in under the now restored table. “I put it there when I was cleaning last week.”

 

The Doctor nodded and cast a wary look between Missy and Nardole before disappearing hastily into the bedroom. Missy continued to stare at Nardole, unblinking eyes following his every move while the Cyborg stared back with uncertainty- he was uncertain how she was feeling about him being there and what her next actions would be. It was usually easy to pick up on her feelings towards them; she rarely hid her annoyance or acceptance but today was different. Carefully, Nardole smiled at the Time Lady- greeting her like one would a small child. Missy narrowed her eyes, watching his lips curl into a smile as her shoulders relaxed. She tried to shoot back a similar kind smile, but that wasn’t an expression that came naturally to her, so she opted for poking her tongue out instead. The jest of the gesture didn’t quite reach her eyes but Nardole chuckled all the same. If they had to deal with a slightly more childish Missy this evening, that wasn’t too bad.

 

Nardole approached the Time Lady, intent on joining her on the sofa, but when he took just two steps; she flinched away. He nodded knowingly and instead pulled out a chair and sat at the table. As he sat down, the platinum folder caught his attention. The offending item was still laying in the corner of the Vault where it had been thrown. Missy, who was watching every move the cyborg made, followed his gaze to the folder and let out an involuntary whimper and hid her face against the back of the sofa. Nardole quickly retrieved the folder and hid it in his jacket, returning to his seat in the kitchen.

 

“Here it is,” the Doctor said re-entering the room. “Missy, I want to have a word about some of those things I found under your bed. Not today, but soon. You know sharp objects aren’t allowed.” Missy turned and held out her arms for the box, ignoring the Doctor’s words. The Time Lord placed the box in her lap and took a seat next to her, watching as she opened the box and retrieved a rubber stress ball and sensory bottle.

 

“This helps then?” The Doctor checked.

 

“Yes,” Missy replied, her voice a little more confident. “But I don’t want to call it a comfort box. I’m not a human. I’d rather call it a box that makes Missy less likely to kill every living organism in sight.”

 

Nardole chuckled from his position within the kitchen.

 

“Isn’t that what the Vault is?” He commented.

 

Luckily, Nardole was well-rehearsed in ducking from projectiles in the Vault.

 

XXXXXXXX

 

Missy wasn’t asleep, but she wasn’t fully awake either.

 

From the kitchen, she could hear the constant mumbling of conversation between the Doctor and Nardole.

 

She hated how tired she became after a meltdown. She used to be able to bring down whole galaxies and not sleep for months, now she could barely keep her eyes open after what had amounted to a botched escape attempt and toddler-style breakdown. The Doctor had said something about this being a good thing. It wasn’t healthy, apparently, to run on that much adrenaline all time. She didn’t know if it was true, but she liked to believe the Doctor when he told her something was good.

 

Rolling onto her side, she stared at the sensory bottle resting on the coffee table and watched the stars shooting through the deep purple slime. She’d copied the night sky of the evening she’d first met Theta when she’d made the bottle. It was a pretty accurate depiction, apart from the deep purple sky. She was grateful that it didn’t look too much like Gallifrey, she was sick just thinking about her home planet and how they had betrayed her at every opportunity.

 

Turning onto her back, she kicked in frustration and let out a frustrated cry. It caught the attention of the Doctor and Nardole, the former approaching the sofa and looking down at Missy in worry.

 

“You’re tired,” he stated decidedly. “Why don’t you go to bed?”

 

“I don’t want to go to bed,” Missy retorted. “I want to stay here.”

 

“If you stay here, will you rest?” The Doctor questioned.

 

“If you come and sit with me.”

 

The Doctor did, walking around to the sofa and sitting down with the Time Lady. Lifting her legs, he rested them in his lap and ran his hand up and massaged her ankles gently. In a matter of minutes, the Time Lady had dozed off.

 

XXXXXXXX

 

“Do you think she read it?” Nardole whispered as he dished up the lasagne he had made for tea.

 

The Doctor looked over his shoulder and checked that Missy was still sleeping before he shrugged.

 

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “I hope she hasn’t but now she knows it exists I don’t think I’ll be able to stop her reading it eventually.”

 

Nardole nodded grimly and dished up a serving for Missy, covering it in clingfilm and placing it in the fridge. He sat down opposite the Doctor, and sprinkled some salt over his own plate of food.

 

“Questions are starting to get asked in certain communities,” Nardole said gravely. “People are starting to wonder where the Mistress has disappeared to. There are rumours abound and that file has only fuelled them. I tried to stop too many people from reading its contents, but I can’t be sure how many have seen it. There’s a lot of people out there that now know some of her weaknesses.”

 

The Doctor nodded, chewing on a mouthful of lasagne thoughtfully. It was a worry- of course it was- but it wasn’t a catastrophe. Missy would be locked away for another 900 years, most that knew of the file and its contents would be long dead by the time they could do anything with the knowledge. He went to voice this but was interrupted by a voice from behind.

 

“Nothing wrong with showing weakness, dear” Missy sang as she waltzed into the kitchen. “At least that’s what the Doctor’s been trying to tell me for the last few decades. I do listen, you see, I really do.”

 

The Doctor and Nardole looked up at her wearily, trying to keep up with whatever mood of the hour this one was. It was the false bravado the Doctor hated and Nardole feared. The Time Lady smirked at their matching expressions of worry and picked up a fork, scooping up a forkful of the Doctor’s lasagne.

 

“Yummy,” Missy praised as she plonked herself in the Doctor’s lap. “Very yummy.”

 

“There’s a plate for you in the fridge, if you like” Nardole offered. “There’s also a spare chair next to you.”

 

Both Time Lords ignored the cyborg. The Doctor lifted his hands to Missy’s cheek and forced her to look in his eyes. He let out a sigh of relief when he didn’t find the mania he had been expecting to find.

 

“Missy,” he said quietly. “How are you feeling?”

 

Missy shrugged and resettled in his lap. She didn’t answer the question and instead returned to what Nardole had been talking about earlier.

 

“I’ve always been the stuff of legends,” she gushed. “I’m pleased to hear I still set the rumour mill moving.”

 

Nardole looked down at his plate, unsure of how to respond. The Doctor sighed and stroked her back gently.

 

“In answer to your earlier question,” Missy began. “I didn’t read it. I read my name and that caused my wee meltdown. I probably would have burned down the whole university and half of this city if I had.”

 

“Okay,” the Doctor said. “I’m pleased you didn’t read it and I’m pleased you didn’t burn down anything.”

 

“I want to read it though,” Missy replied instantly. “And I’m allowed to.”

 

The Doctor inhaled sharply.

 

“That’s not a good idea, Missy.” “I know it’s not,” Missy agreed. “But I’m going to read it. Being locked in here is about me getting better, isn’t it? I need to learn to deal with what happened in the past and that means facing up to some uncomfortable truths. If we do it sensibly and we read through the file together, isn’t that a healthy way of dealing with my issues? You’re always going on about healthy coping mechanisms.”

 

“She’s right there Doctor, “ Nardole said. “If you do this properly, it might really help.”

 

“See,” Missy exclaimed. “Even the Egg of Wisdom agrees.”

 

“If that’s what you want, Missy” the Doctor reluctantly agreed. “But not tonight, I think it’s been enough for today.”

 

“Oh I agree,” Missy replied earnestly. “I’m up and down and left and right tonight. I just want to eat my lasagne and watch your Spring Watch DVD. I like it when they show you the new lambs and then talk about how to cook the best Easter lunch. I’m sure humans don’t see the irony of it, it’s hilarious!”

 

The Doctor frowned but let her have her little pleasures. He watched as she jumped up and walked to the fridge. As he watched her every move, he caught sight of the trembling she was trying to hide. It confirmed she was still feeling raw from the day’s experience.

 

“Also,” Missy began. “The person that had that file must have really hated me, right?”

 

“Yes,” Nardole and the Doctor confirmed in unison.

 

“So I did something bad to him?”

 

“Yes,” the Doctor replied, cautious of where this conversation was going.

 

“In that case,” Missy declared abruptly. “I should meet him. Confronting my past means confronting the evil I’ve committed. That’s right, isn’t it?” Missy turned to face the Doctor and Nardole.

 

The pair stared at her with open mouths.

 

“Yes, but…”

 

“Good, then it’s settled” Missy declared. “I’ll meet one of my victims. How dreadfully exciting.”


	23. Take some time to think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy has to convince the Doctor she can face meeting her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long, I've lacked inspiration and it's been a tough few months at times. Anyway, here's the new chapter. Please be aware, there's some dark mention of murder and torture in this chapter. 
> 
> P.s. Happy to accept any prompts for where to go next.

“Remind me again,” Missy declared with a faux nonchalance as she paced the length of the Vault several times over and cast a scrutinising gaze at Nardole. “What time is my ex-victim getting here?”

Nardole looked over at the Time Lady and gulped, feeling the familiar rising sense of dread, he had felt every time he’d been asked that question. It was now the fifth week in a row that he’d been asked- three weeks after the Doctor had said she’d grow bored with her idea. 

“He’s not coming,” the cyborg replied quietly. “And I really don’t think you should call him your ex-victim.” 

“But that’s what he is,” Missy shot back instantly. “He used to be my victim.” 

The Time Lady froze on the spot as her mind caught up with what Nardole had said. Scowl intensified, she felt a jolt of anger hit her core. The Doctor had said he would think about her proposition, but clearly, he wasn’t going to do even that. Clutching the side of her skirt, Missy fiddled with the material before decisively swivelling on her heels and retreating to the guinea pigs pen. Kneeling, she sat very still and stared into the pen and watched the animals rouse and turn their attention to their Mistress. Not for the first time, Missy thought about how she held their lives in her hand. They relied on her for food and shelter and she could take it all away and crush their tiny bones in an instant. As she watched their tiny noses twitch and heard their cooing, she felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility. They loved her- maybe not love in the sentimental way the Doctor said they did but in the way that they needed her to survive. They recognised her scent and they felt safe and they knew that a treat would soon be on its way. No one had ever felt that way about her in all her lives. 

“Are you listening?” Nardole questioned when Missy didn’t respond to him for the third time. “I said he’ll always be your victim, Missy. Just because you feel guilt now, it doesn’t mean your actions didn’t happen.” 

Missy tensed, but managed to hide the movement from Nardole. She felt sick at the though of redemption always being just out of reach. Scooping up Tabatha, she held the guinea pig close to her chest and placed a gentle kiss to its head. 

“I want you to leave now.” 

XXXXXXXX

The planet had been chosen at random. It wasn’t the best planet to seize control of- there were no natural resources or power vacuums to exploit and the indigenous species held little worth in a universal setting. Still, for the purposes of the Mistress’ little excursion it was perfect. She didn’t want to lay down the foundations to some long winded planetary take over, she wanted a planet she could destroy in a matter of hours and a species she could torture. 

Their screams were music to her ears, their chaotic melody and painful rhythm settling her own chaotic and painful thoughts. Or maybe they didn’t settle, but they did dull the relentless chorus that echoed through her mind. The Mistress knew that feeling their blood wash over her hands and feeling their bones crunch at her touch would satisfy the deep craving for death that was pumping through her veins. 

The masterpiece of this destruction had been the meticulous destruction of the family units. It had been a happy coincidence when Missy discovered the species were a hive mind that centred on the wellbeing of the youngest in the pack. Most societies did, in some way, centre on the same premise but for this species it had been the live blood of the whole planet. If one of its young were in pain, it could debilitate a sub-section of the population. The Mistress soon realised that by rounding up all the young and slowly torturing and murdering them, she was able to cripple the adult population without even touching them. Of course, afterwards she’d had to kill the adult population just for the hell of it. After several hours, their screams had become annoying to even her. 

Her favourite slaughter had been that of an infant that couldn’t have been older than a few weeks.   
She’d seized it from its mother’s arms and the screeching had started instantly.   
The infant had been soothed easily enough, but the mother was inconsolable. 

Cries of “you’re a monster” had echoed around underground caves the species lived in. Missy had cackled in delight, goading the crowd and parading like a pantomime villain. 

Then her expression had turned cold.

With a smirk, she’d snapped the infant’s wrist back. It broke instantly, and the mother cried out in unison with the infant. 

She could have killed it instantly, but where would the fun be in that?

Instead, she had tortured it. Every bone in its tiny body snapped and its stomach slashed open until it bled out. By the time it had finally died, the mother was a quivering mess on the floor. 

The Mistress had been delighted with her actions, saving the pretty young mother as her last victim.   
“Why?” The young mother had asked, cowered on the floor and surrounded by remains of her clan. “How could you do it?”

The Mistress had hummed in content, scooping up the battered remains of the baby and starting to sing a lullaby. She approached the woman and crouched own next to her, laying her dead child across her chest. The woman screeched and thrashed and tried to get away while the Mistress laughed and covered the woman’s mouth with a forceful kiss. Just when the woman was on the cusp of passing out, the Mistress pulled away. 

“It was fun, kiddo” she said brightly. “Watching its life drain away.”

“You’re a mother,” the woman said incredulously, taking the Mistress by surprise. “I could tell by the way you held my baby. You’re a mother and you could still do that.” 

“Yep, and I can do this too.” 

In an instant, the Mistress’ hand delved into the woman’s core and ripped out all her vital organs. The Time Lady giggled as the woman gurgled and choked on her own blood before stilling and going silent for the very last time. 

XXXXXXXX

The Doctor had been shocked to find Missy in a meditative state when he entered the Vault. The Time Lady was sat by the guinea pig pen, curled over on herself in a position that he recognised as child’s pose. (He knew the decade he’d spent with a yoga guru would be used one day.) It was surprising, given that she’d told him on several occasions that her mental stability was no longer up to meditation in the same way it had been when she was a child. 

As he’d stepped into the Vault, Missy hadn’t stirred from her meditative slumber as he’d expected but the Doctor didn’t mind- it was pleasant to see her so peaceful. Approaching the table, a small movement had caught his eyes. The small movement transpired to be a small ball of fluff that was scurrying around the tiles.

“Tabitha!” The Doctor declared, scooping up the runaway guinea pig. “Did mummy Missy get distracted when she was petting you?”   
The guinea pig shook in a way it didn’t when Missy held it, but soon reluctantly settled into the Doctor’s hands. 

“Oh well, I’m sure she didn’t mean to,” the Doctor reasoned. Not wanting to disturb Missy from her trance, waking a Gallifreyan in meditation was akin to waking a sleepwalker, he decided to keep hold of the guinea pig for the time being. “Shall we wait for her to come back to earth together?”

XXXXXXXX

Missy hadn’t realised she’d been screaming. 

Blinking, she watched images of bloodshed and bodies disappear and give way to the Doctor’s concerned face. Her surroundings weren’t quite right though, the Time Lady imagining them both on the now barren planet she had destroyed. 

She felt his two hands firmly holding her in place and felt a fog a confusion cloud her being. 

 

“You’ve been meditating,” the Doctor explained- using the Gallifreyan term for their people’s ancient practice. “I’m not sure how long for, so take it easy. Deep breaths and close your eyes if you need to.”

 

Missy followed his instructions, breathing in and out and reaching out to hold him like her anchor to reality. The Doctor let he hold on to his jacket and continued to encourage her as she came back to herself. 

 

“We’re in the Vault. It’s just me and you,” the Doctor repeated until he saw that Missy was stable enough in reality. 

 

“Yes, yes dear” Missy tutted. “I’m quite aware of where I am, thank you very much.”

 

The Doctor snorted. 

 

“You weren’t five minutes ago. Meditation, eh? I’m surprised I thought you said you were too…”

 

“Fucked up?” Missy offered, batting away his hand and rising to shaky legs. “I thought so too but I was thinking and thinking led to a trance and a trance led to that. It really does feel like you're transported somewhere in your mind.”

The Doctor nodded, in awe of her abilities and what he’d never managed to achieve. 

 

“How long were you under?” He asked, watching her sluggish movements as she eventually made it to the chaise-lounge and dropped into the cushions. “You look exhausted.”

 

Missy looked over at him, eye lids heavy as she considered his question. 

 

“When did Nardole leave?” She asked with a yawn. 

 

“That was the evening before last,” the Doctor replied. “Why?”

 

“That was when I started to med—” Missy broke off with a long yawn. “That was when I—” Missy broke off again, this time her head drooped momentarily, and she almost started to snore. 

 

“Bloody hell,” the Doctor commented. “That long? I had bought some food, but I think that can wait. Come on, let’s get you to bed.” 

 

“Huh?” Missy questioned sloppily. “Why?”

 

“Because you’re dead on your feet,” the Doctor replied as he hauled the Time Lady up and walked slowly in the direction of the bedroom. “Moderation, Missy. We’ve spoken about it before and I fear we may be speaking about it again soon.” 

 

The Time Lady didn’t reply and was easily led into the bedroom, the Doctor placed her gently on the bed and stepped back momentarily, causing the Time Lady to murmur in protest. 

 

“I know, I know” the Doctor placated. “I’m coming back, just let me get my shoes off.”

 

As soon as the Doctor joined Missy on the bed, she curled into him and held on with a vice like grip. 

 

The Doctor frowned, it had been like this with Missy since she’d read the file her captors had read on her. In her waking hours, she’d been fine- almost too fine- as she pretended to be normal and okay with whatever internal battle she was facing. While the Doctor had initially been pleased to see her use the comfort box and other healthy coping mechanisms, he found that as soon as she let her guard down and fell to sleep or- like today- meditated her true vulnerabilities revealed themselves. He’d held her every night for the past few weeks, supporting her through the night tremors and playing along with her in the morning when she insisted everything was okay. He hadn’t even thought of approaching the fact she’d awoken from her meditation screaming. Something that was usually such a peaceful pastime, concluded so traumatically. Sometimes, he feared she really was too far gone to save. Of course, he’d never say that to her. Her continual insistence on meeting the victim who had procured the file on her was deeply troubling. On a good day, Missy couldn’t bring herself to recount her actions to the Doctor. On a bad day, she couldn’t even comprehend what she had done to others or what had been done to her. Having her meet someone whose life she had ruined seemed like a recipe for disaster. 

 

With a deep sigh, the Doctor felt Missy’s familiar shaking set in. Wrapping his arms around the Time Lady, he stroked her back gently and blanketed her mind in his presence- the same that she’d done for him when they were both scared children. He felt Missy’s skin grow clammy and sat her up, despite her sleep protests. 

 

“You’re going to overheat,” he advised. “Just let me take your jumper off.” 

 

Missy let him, letting herself be undressed and then guided back down before clinging once more to the Doctor. Within five minutes, the subconscious trembling had started again. 

 

“You’re safe,” the Doctor promised. “There’s nothing to fear here.”

 

“I’m scared of myself though” Missy yawned, pressing her face against the Doctor’s neck and letting out a quiet sob. “I’m so scared of what I can do.”

 

“What?” The Doctor asked, surprised at her frankness. 

 

He received a snore in response as the Time Lady fell into a deep slumber. 

 

All the while, she continued to shake in his arms. 

XXXXXXXX

 

When Missy awakens, she’s met once again with the sight of the Doctor staring at her. 

 

His eyes are alarmingly wide and the worry she can see in them would be comical were it not so concerning. 

 

“I’m sure there’s something on the television which is much more interesting,” Missy quipped, voice laced with sleep. “Did you not sleep at all?” 

 

“It’s hard to sleep when the person next to you is trembling worse than a volcano. Missy, tell me what’s wrong?” 

 

Missy rolled her eyes and pulled away from the Doctor’s embrace. 

 

“Okay, I’ll ask you some questions then. What did you mean when you said you fear yourself?”

 

Missy snorted incredulously. 

 

“What do you think I meant? You’re supposed to be intelligent. I’m a monster, being in here I keep remembering all the things I’ve done. In great detail.”

 

“That’s good, Missy. Its part of a progress.”

 

Missy scoffed. 

“Enough. It’s my turn to ask questions. When are you going to let me meet my ex-victim? I think that’ll be part of the progress.”

 

The Doctor sighed deeply. 

 

“Missy,” he reasoned. “You won’t even talk to me about the things you’ve done. How are you going to face him?”

 

“Have a little faith Doctor,” Missy replied. “I want to apologise. I need redemption.”

 

There was a long silence. 

 

“He might not give you redemption?” The Doctor said sombrely. “Then what?”

 

Missy looked at him uncertainly. 

 

“But I need to try.”

 

The Doctor sighed, he saw she wasn’t backing down. 

 

“What did you see in your meditation?” He asked. “Share something with me and I might consider organising a meeting.”

 

“I killed a planet’s young in front of their parents. I tortured every infant on the planet and relished the screams of the parents. That was one planet I can remember. I know there were more.”

 

The Doctor felt sick but tried not to let it show. 

 

“Before now, you wouldn’t have admitted that that was wrong.” He reasoned, trying to sound encouraging. “Why the babies first, Missy?”

 

“Do you want me to say its because I can’t have my baby?”

 

“Is it?” 

 

“I don’t know. I don’t think there is a reason and I don’t want to trivialise her death and use it to account for my actions. I might not have got the chance to be a mother to her, but I know that using her as my excuse would be a shitty thing to do.”

 

The Doctor nodded. His stomach still felt unsettled at the bloody image she had painted. Missy continued.

 

“I liked the way the mother screamed when she saw her baby being tortured. It was a nice sound, it made me feel euphoric.” 

 

“The noise you made when I told you your baby was dead was horrific. It was the worst noise in the universe,” the Doctor said quietly. “How can you like that noise?” 

 

Missy shrugged, confusion evident on her face. 

 

“Anyway, that’s where I was when I was meditating. Back on that planet, killing all those babies and then their parents. I wondered if the person that had my file was from there?”

 

“I don’t know, it was Nardole who spoke to him.” the Doctor replied honestly. “Missy, if you killed his child, I don’t think he’s going to forgive you.”

 

“I need to see the pain I’ve caused though,” Missy insisted. “It’s all abstract at the moment. I need to know that I caused his pain.”

 

“Three days,” the Doctor said eventually. 

 

“What?” Missy questioned.

 

“If you still want to do this in three days’ time, I will arrange it.


	24. Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy meets her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that, I'm alive!
> 
> Hope there's still some interest in this story.

Three days had passed. 

As was the way with time, the three days hadn’t passed at the same speed for everyone. For Missy, they had passed at a snail’s pace. The seventy-two hours seeming to last forever, this was not the case for the Doctor. For him, they had flown by and passed him at lightning speed and taken with them every excuse to not let Missy meet one of her victims. 

 

She was sane, relatively speaking. 

 

The man had agreed. 

 

She had contemplated the suggestion calmly and methodically for the three requested days. 

 

There really was no reason not to go ahead, much to the Doctor’s chagrin. 

 

It was nine am, four days after the Doctor had found Missy in her meditative coma and she was still very much intent on her plan. 

 

“You’re sure?” The Doctor questioned as he spread a dollop of marmalade over his scone and waved the knife around the air. Orange spread slipped over the metallic edge of the knife and caught Missy’s attention. She watched as it trailed down the knife’s edge and dripped onto the table. Even after all these years in the Vault, marmalade on a knife wasn’t as pretty as blood was. “Missy?” 

 

“I’m sure,” Missy responded distractedly as she dabbed away the errant marmalade. “I wish you wouldn’t have marmalade on scones, jam is much better.” 

 

The Doctor’s hand came down over Missy’s wrist, gently squeezing in a silent request for her to pay full attention to the conversation at hand. 

 

“If you are sure- and I mean only if- we can arrange a meeting for this afternoon,” he said once he was certain he had her full attention. “Nardole has him up in my office now.” 

 

Missy nodded and retracted her arm from under the Doctor’s gentle grip. It was easy to snatch her arm back and she found herself smiling gratefully at the fact that he had never truly hurt her. Contemplatively, the Time Lady licked the leftover marmalade from her fingers and dropped the used jay cloth carelessly on to the table.   
“If he’s in your office, why do we have to wait until this afternoon?” Missy asked after a few seconds. 

 

“Because I want to ascertain that you are in the right frame of mind to do this—“ 

 

“I’m quite sane, dear,” Missy informed calmly. “Honestly, a few centuries ago, me asking to meet someone I’d hurt to try and make amends would have been like a wet dream to you.” 

 

“Don’t be crude,” the Doctor tutted, face creasing at the image. “Missy. Missy, this is serious. He…you hurt him, you killed his family without a second thought. I’ve just spent an hour talking to him, he’s not going to accept your apology. This isn’t going to be the happy redemption that you’ve read about in some of the books I’ve brought you. More to the point, he obtained a file detailing all the ways you were tortured before you came here. He knows how to hurt you and all of your weaknesses and he will have a motive for coming here today.” 

 

“Is there a point to what you’re telling me?” Missy asked agitatedly as she tapped her forefinger against the table. “I know he’s not going to just forgive me and I’m more than aware that there are people in this universe that want to hurt me. That doesn’t change a thing though. I’m meeting him.” 

 

“What you’re trying to do is admirable and if you’re trying to impress me then you’ve succeeded, but—“

 

“I’m not just trying to impress you!” Missy declared. Standing up the Time Lady began to clear the table of the remnants of breakfast. “I’m doing to for myself… to prove that I can own up to what my actions have done. It’s decided. It’s been three days and I still want to meet him. Now, be a good boy and run upstairs to collect our guest. Mummy is just getting a pot of tea ready and will be ready in half an hour. Do you understand?” 

 

“Missy,” the Doctor sighed. “Missy, I’m not—“ 

 

“Do you understand?” 

 

The Doctor bowed his head and nodded, exiting the room in search of Nardole and their guest. 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

“He’s human,” Nardole squeaked over the Doctor’s shoulder as he read the scan results from the sonic. “But I thought…”

 

“Missy’s path of destruction was never limited to one planet,” the Doctor reminded. “She had rather a penchant for Earth-based endeavours.”

 

“Yes, but if he’s human, how was he at my conference and how did he get his hands on the platinum folder?” 

 

“Now you’re asking the right questions,” the Doctor sighed, glancing back over at the stranger in his office. “You’re out of your own time. You reek of the Asian continent some five hundred years ago. This shouldn’t be possible, how are you here?”

 

Dexjo’s was an unassuming figure dressed in a sleek suit with shoulder length black hair pulled back into a low ponytail. His life had changed forever four hundred years ago. By all laws of nature, he should have been long dead like his wife Tessie and treasured daughter Ruth. He’d had a normal and modest life growing up in a small village on the swamp lands of Papua New Guinea. Dexjo’s life had been perfectly normal until the arrival of a mysterious pale skinned woman with mystical powers. 

 

“Your friend,” Dexjo replied firmly. “The one you’ve just spent half an hour having tea and breakfast with changed my life.” 

 

“I have a feeling it’s not for the better,” Nardole mumbled to himself. 

 

“She killed my family,” Dexjo informed. “And then gave me this.” 

 

The man rolled up his sleeve to reveal a small implant. It was Gallifreyan technology, a supplement similar but more powerful than the device the Doctor had used on Ashildr. It ensured that Dexjo survived and lived no matter what. Of all the things the Doctor had been expecting, it wasn’t that. 

 

“You know what it is then?” Dexjo sneered. “And no it’s not a blessing. I’d like to meet the creature that cursed me now.” 

 

XXXXXXXX

It was awkward, but it was never going to be anything else. 

 

Dexjo was fuelled by self-righteous fury while Missy was struggling to maintain what she believed to be the right social etiquette for the situation. It was painful to watch and the Doctor couldn’t help but squirm in his seat as he watched. Three and a half minutes had passed without either party uttering a single word. Missy’s hands coiled around the teapot in the middle of the table. The Doctor noted that she’d selected her favourite one with the dancing elves. Not only was the choice out of season, but it also highlighted the naivety with which she had approached the situation. 

 

“Missy, do you have anything to say to Dexjo?” The Doctor prompted, hoping to start the conversation. 

 

Missy’s eyes darted up, the confidence and self-assurance she had shown earlier that morning was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, her eyes fell on Dexjo and the Doctor noted a look of confusion that crossed her features as she tried to place something. That was when the Doctor realised she didn’t remember who the man sat in front of her was. Perhaps she’d built up in her head an idea of who she was going to meet and was now perplexed by the stranger whose life she couldn’t remember ruining. The Doctor was about to call time on the meeting when Missy spoke. 

 

“Would you like some tea?” Missy asked, almost timidly as she held the teapot up. 

 

Dexjo’s eyes came to life with fire and he slammed his fist against the table. 

 

“I haven’t come here for a tea party,” the man spat. His outburst caused Missy to jump, instinctively moving back from the man. “I’ve come here to talk about how you ruined my life.” 

 

Missy froze, hands still grasping the teapot as she stared at the Doctor blindly. The Doctor watched as she went to pour some tea anyway, her social functions seeming to malfunction to the extent that she looked like the welcome droid she’d pretended to be all that time ago. Placing a hand on her wrist, he encouraged her to put the teapot down and offered out his steady hands to her shaking ones.

 

“He doesn’t want tea,” the Doctor informed calmly, opting to speak in just Gallifreyan so only she would understand him. “Take a deep breath and if you still want to do this, introduce yourself to him.” 

 

Missy took two deep breaths, eventually holding her hand out to Dexjo. 

 

“Hello, I’m Missy” she said, sounding a little more like herself. 

 

Dexjo ignored her, surprising both Time Lords as he spat at Missy’s outstretched hand. The Doctor sat up straighter, ready to intervene and about to warn Dexjo against another move like that when the human spoke again. The Doctor’s mouth closed and he encouraged Missy to lower her outstretched hand. He held it under the table and gently wiped away the saliva. She appeared to be losing any knowledge of how to react and so the Doctor tried his best to reassure her, gently rubbing circles into her palm. 

 

“I know exactly who you are, Mistress. How could I ever forget?” Dexjo asked, leaning in closer to Missy. “You ruined my life and now you invite me here. What do you have to say for yourself?”

 

Missy blinked, licking her dry lips. 

 

“I’m sorry but I don’t remember you,” Missy whispered. 

 

Dexjo went silent, not quite believing what he had just heard. 

 

“You don’t remember who I am?” He scoffed. “You destroyed my whole village. My wife and my daughter… they…You befriended my Ruthie, she thought you were the best thing to ever happen…she worshipped you like a God and you took her to the swamps and you dismembered her for fun. She trusted you. We all trusted you. When I returned to the village, I found it in ruins and you were playing with my daughter’s head. You were playing with a four year old’s decapitated head and laughing. You thought my face was hilarious and when I begged you to kill me you laughed even more. You gave me this chip…You made me immortal so that I could suffer their deaths for eternity. How could you forget?” 

 

Missy froze as the words left Dexjo’s mouth at full speed. Flashes of memory hit her in a jumbled order, none of it making much sense as she struggled to recall the incident. All at once, she knew it had been a mistake to hold this meeting. It wasn’t therapeutic and she was regretting it more every minute. Without thinking, she began trying to crawl into the Doctor’s lap. She wanted the stranger out of her space and she wanted him to take his intrusive memories with him. Finally positioned in the Doctor’s lap, she turned fully away from Dexjo and hid her face against the Doctor’s chest. The other Time Lord was frozen, the details of exactly what Missy had down to Dexjo sinking in. He was abruptly brought back to the present when he felt a pair of teeth sinking into the fleshy skin of his shoulder.

 

“Missy!” He hissed, angry at first but then mellowing as he noticed the Time Lady shaking in his lap. “Please don’t bite me,” he said more softly. 

 

Dexjo laughed from the other side of the table. 

 

“I was worried about coming here today, but after seeing you here like this, well its easily made my year.” 

 

Missy was still trembling in the Doctor’s arms. 

 

“I think you should leave, Dexjo,” the Doctor said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything but you need to go.” 

 

The man stood, turning to head out of the room. He cast a quick glance back at Missy. 

 

“I’m glad I saw you,” he said smugly. “I needed this. Before I go, it’s worth remembering that I’m not the only one that’s seen the folder.” 

 

XXXXXXXX

Missy had been sat in the Doctor’s lap for an hour and she was still trembling. 

 

“I don’t want to do that again,” she mumbled. “Please don’t make me.”

 

“I didn’t make you do it this time, Missy” the Doctor reminded. 

 

“I didn’t remember him. I still don’t.”

 

“Shh. That doesn’t matter now.”

 

“But Doctor, how many more can’t I remember?”


	25. Guilty talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only a little filler chapter looking at Missy and how she deals with guilt.

The Doctor turned out the lamp next to Missy’s bed when he was certain that the Time Lady was asleep. The Vault plunged into a deep darkness- the kind of darkness that Missy found comforting but the Doctor hated. It had been a restless evening for the pair, with Missy becoming increasingly unsettled and fluctuating between manic bursts of energy and fits of rage before finally slipping into a despondent and unresponsive mood as the evening gave way to the twilight hours. The Doctor had watched on helplessly, uncertain what he could do to help Missy. She had begged for medication- desperate to slip into a dreamless state and stop existing for just a few hours. He had denied her the luxury, not to be cruel but to be kind. At some point, the Time Lady was going to have to deal with the emotions that she was feeling. This was the most Missy had managed to feel in centuries, it was confusing and difficult, but the benefits would soon outweigh the negatives. Soon, the Time Lady would be able to remember what it meant to laugh with utter joy and love without intention of malice. 

At least that was what the Doctor hoped.

In the end, Missy had given into exhaustion. She stopped pulling at her hair, scratching her arms and screaming at the Doctor every other word and instead took herself to the corner of the room and settled down on the bed where she fell silent. The Doctor had hesitantly followed her, wanting to give her space but at the same time keep a close eye on her. He’d offered to get the guinea pigs out of the pen and let her spend some time, she’d refused saying that she didn’t deserve it. He’d offered to hold her while she worked her way through the emotions she was feeling, again she refused and persisted to say that she didn’t deserve it. He’d even offered Yana and was surprised when she refused. Usually, the small faux-feline was a sure way to bring Missy out of a negative frame of mind. Predictably, she’d stuck with her usual response; stating that she didn’t deserve the comfort that Yana brought. Not willing to let her continue to punish herself to unhealthy levels, the Doctor had placed the small furry cat on the end of her bed. Missy had curled away from the cat, but the Doctor had stuck to his guns. As the night wore on, Missy became sleepier and as she edged her way towards sleep, she subconsciously reached for Yana. The Doctor breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled the robotic cat into a tight hug and visibly relaxed at the close contact. 

That had been three hours ago. To his amazement, Missy had remained in a nearly undisturbed state of rest for the entirety of that time. For a while, the Doctor had hovered in one of the many chairs that scattered the Vault. He stayed nearby- on hand for anything that Missy might need while also keeping a safe distance in case she woke suddenly and decided to lash out (it wouldn’t be the first time.) As the fourth hour approached, Missy was still very much asleep with Yana held tight against her chest. Her brow creased as she slept, and the Doctor found himself reaching out and stroking her forehead tenderly. He was so pleased she was with him when she was like this, not out somewhere in the universe doing things he couldn’t even imagine. In her sleep, Missy turned over to face the Doctor and mumbled something under her breath. The Doctor held his own breath, terrified of waking her prematurely and the cycle that had played out that evening returning. 

“You deserve to be at peace,” the Doctor whispered. “Go to sleep, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Djax,” Missy mumbled tiredly. “He hates me. I’m never going to change.” 

“Yes, he does,” the Doctor said honestly. “But you are changing. Look at you, this is you changing.” 

Missy cried, she felt sick to her stomach and curled up smaller. 

“Will you kill me?” She begged. “I should be dead. My head feels so heavy.”

The Doctor felt his hearts break. 

“No. Never, I’m never killing you,” the Doctor said instantly. He stroked his thumb along Missy’s forehead tenderly, wishing that he could take away the pain she was feeling so intensely. “Can I hold you Missy?” 

Missy shook her head.

“I don’t deserve it,” Missy protested. “I don’t deserve that.” 

Standing, the Doctor stood and joined Missy on the bed. He shuffled them both until they were in a half-seated position and encouraged Missy to rest against him. Despite her words of protest that she didn’t want to be held, her whole frame melted against him. It trembled, but the Doctor knew she wasn’t cold. 

“You do deserve it, Missy. Think back two hundred years. You wouldn’t have even accepted that what you did was wrong. Or you would have accepted it and then been proud of your actions, now you’re feeling guilty and I know that’s a horrible way to feel but you must be able to see that change?” 

“Guilt is my least favourite emotion,” Missy said decidedly. She was more awake now, sitting up but staying firmly pressed against the Doctor. “I think it is, at least.”

The Doctor hummed in contemplation, stroking her hair back gently. 

“Guilt is a very powerful emotion,” the Doctor agreed. He knew that better than most. “I want you to try and work on your thinking though, do you think you can do that?”

There was a moment’s silence and Missy shook her head. 

“I don’t know,” Missy sighed. “I’m not really sure what you mean by that.” 

The Doctor leaned down and placed a kiss to Missy’s head. 

“That’s okay,” the Doctor reassured. “It’s okay not to understand and it’s okay to ask questions when you don’t understand. Would you like me to explain?”

Missy nodded and snuggled against the Doctor’s chest.

“I think that it’s very good that you’ve been so reflective and are thinking about how what you’ve done is wrong. It doesn’t change that what you’ve done is bad, but it shows that you’re growing. Instead of looking at it so negatively, do you think you can change how think about it and put a positive spin on it?”

Missy’s brow creased in consideration, she was uncertain of what the Doctor was trying to explain but forged ahead; no longer as worried as getting the question wrong. 

“I’m thinking,” Missy sighed thoughtfully. “I think that maybe the guilt can be good because it shows me how I don’t want to feel in the future and that might stop me from doing bad things again. Does that sound right?” 

It wasn’t quite what the Doctor was aiming for, but it wasn’t completely wrong either. 

“That’s a positive way to think of it,” the Doctor reasoned. “Does that make you feel a little bit better about it?” 

“A little bit. Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Yes, get some sleep.”


End file.
